


Strawberry Milkshakes & Cigarettes

by hannahberrie



Series: first time he kissed a boy [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Africa by Toto is involved, Coming Out, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Flirting, Halloween Aesthetic, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Making Out, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Unresolved Romantic Tension, feelings are involved, it gets messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-11-07 21:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20824316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahberrie/pseuds/hannahberrie
Summary: In which Richie can't stop thinking about Eddie, gets his first job at the Derry Diner, teaches Eddie to tie a cherry stem, ruins their friendship, and takes him on an almost-date.And not in that order.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This first chapter contains the use of two homophobic slurs near the end, I just wanted to give everyone a heads up just in case that kind of content is upsetting to you. 
> 
> On a more uplifting note, I just wanted to say a HUGE thank you to everyone who read _Dream Logic_. I was honestly hoping that it would just pass like 100 kudos and then you guys blew it up! I wasn't planning on writing anything else in that universe, but after so many of you guys asked for more, here we are: a three-story series. 
> 
> If you haven't read the last fic in this series, I would really recommend it, as it affects some of the things happening in this chapter, and will DEFINITELY affect things happening in Chapter 2. But, I mean, you do you. Cause chaos live your life it's all good.

Richie Tozier is 15 years old when his parents sit him down in the living room one September evening and tell him the news that every kid dreads hearing:

They’re taking away his allowance.

“What the fuck for?!” Richie exclaims, sitting up straight in the family recliner.

His parents, seated across from him in the loveseat, give him disapproving looks.

“Language!” His mother snaps.

Richie takes a deep breath and fights back every instinct to roll his eyes into the back of his head. “_Why do you hate me?_” he rephrases, still earning exasperated looks from his parents, “I didn’t do anything!”

“That’s the problem,” his father counters, “You don’t _do _anything. All you do is hang out at the arcade and around town.”

“Well, what the hell else is there to do?” Richie scoffs, “Knit?”

“_Richie,_” his mother says patiently, “We don’t _hate _you; we’re trying to teach you something.”

“What, like how to suffer?”

“Like how to value hard work,” His father says.

Richie groans and slouches back in his seat. “Please don’t do this to me,” he pleads, sliding further and further down with every word. By the time he starts talking again, he’s looking up at the ceiling. “How am I going to go to movies? Or get a Super Nintendo?”

“By getting a _job_, Richard.”

So that’s that.

“It’s totally unfair,” Richie complains to the Losers the next day in the Derry High cafeteria. They’re all seated at their usual table in the back of the cafeteria, the one furthest away from the resident Senior assholes. “Doesn’t this shit qualify as cruel and unusual punishment?”

“I’ve been working for my grandad since I was eight,” Mike says cheerily, because _of course _Mike says it cheerily. “It’s not so bad.”

“Maybe you should stop being so lazy,” Stan says, taking a bite of his perfectly-quartered tuna sandwich.

“Maybe you should fuck off, Stanley.”

“I’m with Stan,” Eddie says. He’s seated beside Richie, elbow brushing against his as he reaches across the table for a napkin. “Stop being lazy.”

“Thanks for that _valuable _input, Eds,” Richie huffs.

“Welcome,” Eddie says, giving Richie a smug grin.

“Jobs don’t have to be b-bad,” Bill says, “Th-they can be fu-fun.”

Richie frowns, doubtful. “How?”

“By getting a job somewhere you like,” Beverly suggests, to which Ben nods in agreement.

Now _there _was an idea.

So, that day after school, Richie goes to one of his favorite places in this entire shitty town: the arcade. He can’t help but think about the big middle-finger it’d be to his parents if the one place they were tired of him bumming around all the time was the same place he got a job.

…Only, that turns out to be a bust, because apparently? He wouldn’t be allowed to play the games while he was working? He’d just have to _watch _other people play? So, what would even be the fucking point?

He doesn’t have much luck anywhere else. In the days that pass, his job hunt turns out to be a big waste of time. The movie theater isn’t hiring, the record shop only lets people over 16 work there, the guy that runs the video rental store looks like an actual serial killer (and _somehow _still remembers Richie from the whole getting-kicked-out-of-the-porn-section incident), and he’s not enough of a geek to apply to work at the library.

And so, that leaves him only one more place that he can think of. A place that’s only marginally less-geeky than the library. Emphasis on _marginally. _

_“The diner!?” _Eddie exclaims when Richie calls him up late one night, “You got a job at the diner?”

“That’s what I said, dipshit,” Richie says, leaning against the wall. He twirls the coiling phone cord around his fingers as he talks. Eddie’s the first person he’s told the news to, after his parents, just ‘cause. He’ll tell everyone else tomorrow, but for now, he kinda likes that Eddie’s the only person to know.

He wonders if Eddie’s talking to him on the phone in his kitchen, or the one in his room. The lucky bastard just got his own phone line, on account of his mother insisting that he needed one if some emergency ever happened in the middle of the night. For once, Eddie was happy to go along with her insufferable nagging when she suggested that.

He’s probably using the one in his room. Richie’s not sure why he cares. He doesn’t care.

“Isn’t that the place where they make you wear that dumb uniform?” Eddie says, and Richie can hear the smile in his voice.

“I mean, yeah, but one, I look super good in it, and two, I get free milkshakes!”

“Yeah, right.” Eddie scoffs.

“It’s true, I can have as many as I want! The manager said so!”

“Not that,” Eddie interrupts, and his voice breaks off in that way it does when he’s nervous, “The other thing.”

“You’re so fucking rude, Eds.”

“Bite me, Trashmouth.”

“Where at?” Richie says, grinning at he hears Eddie groan in annoyance. He also hears a soft _thud _of Eddie falling back against his pillows, and the thought of Eddie lounging in bed at night — staying up late to talk on the phone to Richie, _thinking _of Richie, probably wearing his ridiculous _Thundercats _t-shirt that’s getting too small for him and his pair of red shorts that are definitely too small for him — makes Richie stupidly happier than he should be.

“You’re obnoxious. Goodnight.” They’re so abrupt with each other sometimes, but Richie knows they’re both completely used to it at this point, too.

“Alright. ‘Night.”

“‘Night.”

* * *

The first days at his new job are tough, to say the least. As soon as school lets out, Tuesdays through Thursdays, he has to head right to the diner, leave his bike in the alley, and change into his uniform in the employee bathroom.

And, ok, he might have been full of shit when he was talking to Eddie: his uniform is beyond pretty dumb. Richie has to wear this button-up short-sleeved shirt, a striped red-and-white apron around his waist, a red bow tie, and this weird ‘soda jerk’ hat (whatever the fuck that means) that doesn’t want to stay on his head.

Also, the_ roller-skates._

He has to wear fucking roller-skates, something he hasn’t done since he was like, eight. But when he tries to complain to his manager (a swelling balloon of a man with red cheeks and slicked-back hair), the manager tells him to, in verbatim, “either skate up or get out.”

When Richie puts on his uniform on his first day, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, he questions whether this is really an upgrade from the library. Then he promptly slips and falls on his face, getting a face-full of grimy bathroom tile because, _roller-skates. _

The diner itself is long and narrow. There’s a bar in the center of the room with stools around it, and all around the sides of the room are plush red booths with cracked seats that expose the tan cushion and white cotton underneath. There’s an elaborate jukebox in the corner that’s always blasting 60s and 70s hits. Windows line all the walls, except for the wall behind the bar that separates the dining room from the kitchen; that wall is covered in kitschy memorabilia of all kinds: old license plates, Elvis posters, Coca-Cola ads, rusted bike wheels. Even though he’s eaten here a million times before, Richie can’t help but admire it all — there’s just something so _homey _about it — as Greta shows him around his first day.

Also yeah, Greta Keene works here, for some reason.

“Here’s where we keep menus,” she says, pointing to a stack of menus atop the bar as she gives him the tour (a task she was clearly _thrilled_ to be assigned by their manager). She points to the coffee machine. “That’s where we make coffee.” Nodding her head to the kitchen, “That’s where the cooks make the food,” and toward the trash can under the bar, “That’s where we put trash.”

_They put trash in the trash can? And the cooks cook in the kitchen? No way! _

“No offense,” Richie cuts in, eyeing her, “But this is the most useless fucking tour I’ve ever been on.”

Greta, chomping down on a saliva-drenched wad of bubble gum, blows a bubble before flipping him off.

Thankfully, the other waitresses are nicer to him, and a lot more willing to help train him. Richie can’t help but vainly wonder if it’s because he’s the only guy waiter. It probably is. They keep doing that thing that girls do when they like someone: staring at him and giggling all the time even when he’s just standing around, and asking him questions like, _so what’s your star sign _(like Richie fucking knows, but they tell him he’s a Pisces, whatever that means)? The cooks are basically all guys, but they’re all in college and all unimpressed by Richie’s fantastic sense of humor. Total snoozeville.

But it’s fine, because talking to the girls provides him an all-access pass to the Derry High rumor mill. Richie doesn’t know how girls acquire as much gossip as they do, but he’s not complaining, because it turns out to be extremely interesting. While making fresh coffee, cleaning ketchup bottles, or hanging order slips on the cook line, he learns all about how Sally Meuller supposedly stuffs her bra, how Henry Bowers’ reportedly started talking to the moon in the looney-bin, and how apparently the whole school is convinced that the gym teacher’s secretly a cokehead.

He’s actually in the middle of comparing gym teacher theories with two of the waitresses during his third or fourth shift (because there’s no way that white stuff under his nose is just ‘chalk’) when the Losers visit him for the first time.

It’s a quiet afternoon, right in the lull before the big dinner rush. The bell above the door rings, and Richie almost groans, because he doesn’t want to start doing actual work. As much as he enjoys getting to chat up people all the time, taking people’s orders could be hard. Like, how is he supposed to _not _laugh right in someone’s face when they ask him for a dairy-free milkshake?

But thankfully, it’s not actual work that walks in through the door, but just his friends.

“Hey, Trashmouth!” Beverly calls out as they enter.

Richie brightens. “‘Sup, fuckers!” He greets, earning dirty glances from some of the older patrons currently dining. But whatever, it’s like 4:00, and who the fuck is honestly already eating _dinner_ at_ 4:00? _He grabs a handful of menus and skates over to them, wobbling only slightly as he tries his best not to slip in front of them.

Apparently, Stan and Eddie find this incredibly hilarious, as they both burst out laughing.

“What?” Richie says, coming to a stop and looking at them flatly.

“Y-Your uniform!” Stan says between laughs.

“You look like you’re in the fucking circus!” Eddie adds.

“Oh, fuck off, both of you! I’ll spit in your food!”

“You l-look professional R-Richie,” Bill says, but even as he says it, his eyes are crinkling in the corners the way they do when he’s holding in a laugh.

“I think your uniform is cool!” Ben says genuinely, which — and as much as Richie loves Ben — isn’t much consolation considering that it’s coming from the guy wearing the tie-dye _New Kids on the Bloc_k t-shirt.

“Whatever, assholes,” Richie grumbles, “C’mon.” He skates over to one of the bigger booths and slaps the menus down, motioning for them to sit. The Losers follow him and cram into the booth, Stan, Mike, and Ben on one side; Bill, Bev, and Eddie on the other.

“So, how do you like it so far?” Mike asks as they open their menus.

Richie shrugs, getting out his little order-taking notebook from his apron and removing his pen from where he keeps it tucked behind his ear. “It’s alright.”

“Are you getting good tips?” Beverly smiles.

“Hell yeah,” Richie winks, “Derry can’t get enough of me!”

“Don’t expect a tip from me,” Stan says dryly.

“Wasn’t planning on it, Stanley. They already cut it off at your bar mitzvah!” Richie grins, making a slicing motion in front of his pants.

“That’s it, I’m leaving!” Stan scowls, trying to stand up, but he’s at the back of the booth, and Mike and Ben don’t look like they’re planning on moving any time soon, so…

Richie, 1.

Stan, - 69.

The Losers are scanning their menus, chatting amongst themselves about what to order, when Richie casually glances over at Eddie.

Only to see that Eddie’s already looking back at him. Whelp. His eyes are scanning over Richie, looking him up and down, and if Eddie was one of the waitresses, he’d be totally convinced that Eddie was checking him out.

Eddie sees that Richie sees, and suddenly looks flustered.

“What?” Richie asks, raising an eyebrow.

Eddie’s eyes motion to Richie’s collar. “Since when do you know how to tie a bowtie?” He asks, giving Richie a skeptical look.

“I don’t,” Richie smiles, tugging at it, “It’s a strap-on.”

“A strap-on?” Eddie sputters for a moment before he snaps back, “It’s called a _CLIP-ON_, idiot!”

Richie shrugs, still smiling. “Same thing.”

Eddie turns back to his menu, seething (adorably, if Richie might add).

“Alright, whaddya want?” Richie sighs, motioning for everyone to hurry up.

“Wh-what are you getting?” Bill asks Bev.

“I think I’ll just get a burger with fries,” Bev replies, smiling at Bill all starry-eyed.

“Me too!” He says happily.

Oh yeah, so they’re kinda dating now? Richie’s not sure, it’s not something they like talked about as a group, or anything. He doesn’t really know how he feels about it — after all, only an idiot wouldn’t notice that Ben’s been crushing on Beverly since forever — but whatever. Richie’s definitely got enough of his own shit going on.

“I’ll have a salad and vanilla milkshake,” Eddie says, closing his menu and looking up at Richie seriously.

“A salad?” Richie snorts.

“What?”

“Who the fuck eats a salad with a milkshake?”

“Me!”

“Fuck that, you’re getting a burger.”

“I don’t want a fucking burger!”

“Too late, already wrote it down. Ben, you’re next.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and slumps down in his seat, evidently not having enough effort to fight Richie on this.

After the rest of the Losers place their orders, Greta skates by, giving them a dirty glare. “You can’t curse in front of customers,” she says as she passes, to which Richie flips off her retreating back.

“Ugh, why is she here?” Eddie mutters as she skates off to her own table, “I thought she worked for her dad?”

“Guess he got tired of her ass and fired her,” Richie shrugs, “I don’t blame him.”

“Who fires their kid?” Mike frowns.

“I dunno,” Richie replies, “I think all the parents in this town are going crazy. Eddie’s mom is probably leading a cult, or something.”

“If my burger is fucking pink,” Eddie says, glaring at Richie, “I’m calling the health department.”

“Extra rare, got it,” Richie says, drawing a smiley face next to Eddie’s order as he pretends to write the words down. He looks up at Eddie impishly, who glares back at him.

“Stop flirting and take our orders,” Stan says, sounding bored.

Eddie and Richie’s faces both flush red as they break eye contact abruptly. “Fuck off, Stan!” Richie snaps, “For that, you’re getting a slice of white bread. Mike, Ben, chop, chop!”

“You do know that a waiter’s job is to take orders,” Bev says, giving Richie a playful smile, “Not give them, right?”

“Jesus Christ, are all of you guys on your periods today? I’m aboutta pass you all off to Greta.”

“Th-then we’re following St-Stan out of here,” Bill says, earning some light laughs from the rest of the group.

It’s still a little weird, getting used to the whole having-a-job thing, but knowing that he has his friends to support him (in their weird, teasing way), makes it easier. They hang around through the rest of the dinner shift, talking amongst themselves and giving him encouraging glances as he helps out other tables.

Also, Eddie winds up really liking his burger, so there’s that.

* * *

Even though Richie likes his job well enough, and it’s only three days a week, it kinda sucks knowing that all of the Losers are hanging out without him those three days a week. Well, he doesn’t _know_ that they are — if they are, they don’t mention it — but still.

It all starts to feel worth it though the day he gets his first paycheck after two weeks: a whole $100! That’s already HALF of a Super Nintendo! Plus, with all the tips he’s been raking in, he’s already made over a month’s worth of allowance back.

Richie can’t help but brag to Eddie at school the next day as Eddie gets textbooks out of his locker before class.

“I’m basically fucking rich!” Richie says, leaning against the lockers beside Eddie’s.

“Congrats,” Eddie says sarcastically, but the smile he gives Richie is soft and sincere.

Richie glances down at his feet. “We should, uh, do something tonight,” he says CASUALLY BECAUSE HE IS VERY CASUAL AND VERY COOL RIGHT NOW AND NOT NERVOUS AT ALL.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks, flipping open one of his notebooks, no doubt to check for the millionth time that his homework’s still inside.

“Y’know, to fucking celebrate, Eds! We could like, go see a movie, or something. I’d pay for everything.”

“What about our friends?”

“Fuck that! I’m not paying for all their broke asses!”

“We could still invite them, though. I know they’ll be happy for you, too.”

God, why does Eddie always have to use so much logic? “We can do something else with them then. C’mon, Eds. I’m literally inviting you to Tozier Town for free! You know how many ladies are scrambling to get in on that action?”

“If you call hanging out with you going to ‘Tozier Town’ I’m not going. That place is probably worse than hell.”

“Please, you’re the mayor.”

“No, I’m not!” Eddie frowns, glancing up at him.

“Too late, you’re elected. Your face is already on the Tozier Town currency.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but Richie could almost swear that he sees the corners of Eddie’s mouth curving up in a smile.

“Soooo,” Richie says after a beat, very CASUAL and COOL-LIKE, “You in?”

Eddie sighs and shuts his notebook, and then his locker. “Fine, I guess.” He says it with heavy reluctance, but Richie’s been friends with him for 10 years now, and therefore knows when Eddie’s full of shit. He can roll his eyes all he wants, but Richie still sees that smile hovering on his lips.

_Then it’s a date_, Richie almost says, but back-pedals real fucking quickly, because friends don’t go on dates.

“Sweet, I’ll swing by around 6, fuck your mom, and we’ll head out around 7.”

Eddie punches Richie’s arm. “You’ll get me at 6, idiot!”

“Alright, alright!” Richie yelps, grabbing his arm.

“Thank you,” Eddie says, breathing out slowly.

“...You can have a go with me first, and _then_ your mom.”

This time, he manages to dodge Eddie’s punch before it lands.

* * *

The bike ride to Eddie’s house that night feels both incredibly short and impossibly long. It’s long because he can’t wait to get there already, and short because he doesn’t have enough time to practice what to be like around Eddie.

A part of him really hates that. It seems like as he gets older and older, it’s becoming harder to just be around Eddie. He’s constantly evaluating himself: what he’s saying, how he’s standing. He just wants to go back to a time where he wasn’t scared of himself around his best friend.

He leaves his bike on Eddie’s front lawn and knocks on his front door, absentmindedly humming a new Nirvana song he’d heard on the radio recently.

“I’ll get it!” Eddie calls out from somewhere inside the house, which seems like a pointless thing to say. It’s 6:00 on a Friday, which means that Mrs. Kaspbrack has sunken into the la-z-boy with a TV dinner and the latest _Days of Our Lives _episodes (she tapes them all even though, in her opinion, the characters on the show are so “immoral”). _Of course_ Eddie’s getting the door.

It swings open, and then Eddie’s standing there in a navy blue sweater tucked into his jeans, and his hair is perfectly combed and swooping off to one side, and his signature fanny pack is around his hips, and Richie can’t stop staring. Also, he kinda feels dumb for showing up in the same clothes he wore to school today.

“What?” Eddie blushes, tugging on his sweater’s sleeve.

Richie stands up straighter and quickly recovers. “Jeez, Eds, where’d you get that sweater? Did you raid Stan’s closet or something? You look like a divorced dad!”

He’s being a dick, like a major one. Eddie clearly put time and effort into looking nice, and Richie can’t force his mouth to form actual nice words about it.

“Wow, thanks.” Eddie frowns, obviously hurt.

Shit. There’s still time to fix this.

“Just, here—“ Richie says, stepping forward. He untucks Eddie’s sweater from his pants, definitely not even thinking about the way his fingers brush against Eddie’s bare skin as he does so. “You need to loosen it up, Eds! It’s the 90s! Live a little!”

Eddie eyes him as Richie steps back. “You think this is better?”

“Totally. Now you’ll be a total chick magnet!”

“Whatever,” Eddie sighs, but leaves his sweater untucked.

“Who’s at the door?” Sonia calls from the living room.

“_Bring me the Wookie_,” Richie whispers in a low, croaky voice, which forces Eddie to bite down on his lower lip to keep from laughing.

“I-It’s just Richie, Mommy!” Eddie calls back, swallowing his laughter, “We’re going to a movie!”

“It’s already after six, Eddie Bear,” his mother says gravely, “You know you’re not supposed to be out late.”

“It’s _Friday!_”

“_Eddie_.”

“I’ll be back by 9, I swear!”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. K!” Richie pipes in, slipping into the foyer to talk to her, “I’ll take good care of Eddie Bear! I won’t let anything happen to a single hair on his adorable head!”

Eddie gives him an unamused glare that’s disappointingly similar to the one Sonia gives him.

“Don’t you hurt my Eddie,” she says warningly, and it takes everything in Richie not to shoot back, _are you fucking deaf? _

“He won’t, Ma!” Eddie huffs, grabbing Richie’s hand and pulling him toward the door, _Let’s go_, his eyes say, and Richie couldn’t agree more.

“Jesus, I don’t know how you live like that,” Richie says as Eddie leads them over to their bikes, hands still intertwined, “I’d wind up in the psych ward with Bowers.”

“Well, maybe I’m already crazy,” Eddie smirks, letting go of Richie as he reaches his bike, “I mean, I’m friends with you.”

“Methinks Eduardo doth protest too much,” Richie says, giving Eddie a wink, and Richie’s day is made when the tips of Eddie’s ears flush red in response.

As promised, when they get to the theater, Richie pays for two tickets to _Child’s Play 3_ (the attendant is apparently too checked out to care that he’s selling R-rated tickets to a pair of 15 year-olds) as well as one large bucket of popcorn for them to share.

“Let me hold the popcorn,” Eddie says immediately after Richie buys it, “I don’t want you to eat half of it before the movie even starts.”

“How do I know you’re not gonna eat it all, fat-ass?” Richie says as he hands it over.

“Because I’m not a dickhead, dumb-ass!”

It’s pretty busy in the theater right now, being a Friday night and all. The line for the box office is long and snaking, Eddie and Richie had waited in it for a solid 15 minutes. Richie can’t help but feel self-conscious as he glances around the theater lobby. Two guys could go see a movie together, right? That didn’t have to mean anything, it didn’t mean anyone would question or doubt or _know_...

“Earth to Trashmouth!” Eddie cuts in, waving a hand in front of Richie’s face.

Richie flinches and pushes his glasses up his nose. “What?”

“Let’s go sit down! I wanna get good seats!”

Richie glances around at the busy room and nods. “Yeah, we better hurry up. This place is filling up faster—“

“Than my mom’s vagina,” Eddie finishes flatly.

Richie beams at him. “You’re finishing my sentences now, Eds? That’s adorable!”

“It’s not adorable,” Eddie huffs, “Your jokes are just lame.”

Richie jolts dramatically, slapping a hand over his heart and closing his eyes. “Y-you wound me, Eds,” he says with an exaggerated, rattling breath, before stumbling backward and sprawling out onto the floor. He keeps his eyes closed and sticks his tongue out the side of his mouth for extra effect.

“Oh my god,” He hears Eddie laugh, “Get up, idiot!”

“Can’t. Dead. You meaned me to death.”

“_Mean_ isn’t a fucking verb!”

“Tell that to my corpse!”

He hears Eddie sigh in exasperation before a hand slips into his and starts pulling him up. Eddie, no offense, is definitely not strong enough to pull up Richie on his own, so Richie helps him out and stands up slowly.

“Wake up,” Eddie says, slapping his cheek a few times.

Richie’s filter (what little of it there is) has apparently seen itself out for the night, because Richie doesn’t hesitate before saying, “Maybe true love’s kiss will wake me up, Eddie Bear.”

_Augh!!!! What kind of cheesy shit was that??? _Richie wants to kick himself.

Eddie’s quiet for a second, before, “Then you’re fucked, because my mom’s not here.”

Richie grins and opens his eyes. “What the fuck? I’m not in love with her!”

Thankfully, Eddie’s smiling back. “You sound like you are.”

“No fucking way,” Richie insists, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, “See, all that crazy fucking we do is all just a ploy for me to get closer to _you_, Eds.”

(W h yt h ef u c kd i dh es a yT H A T ?)

“Ew!” Eddie blushes, shoving Richie’s arm off, and Richie’s not sure if the ‘ew’ was meant for the ‘crazy fucking’ thing or the ‘getting closer to Eddie’ thing. He really really hopes it’s the first thing.

Richie pushes up his glasses again and hopes he’s not blushing. “Alright, Spaghetti, let’s go sit down.” The idea of sitting in a dark theater where he has to be quiet and can’t put his foot in his mouth anymore sounds like a great change of pace.

Eddie nods and follows Richie as he leads them out of the lobby and into the back of the building. It’s quiet and more dimly lit back here, with a small handful of doors that lead to each theater.

“Which one are we in again?” Eddie asks.

Richie glances down at their tickets. “Lemme see—“

“What the fuck do we have here?” Someone cuts in, and Richie doesn’t even need to look up to know who it is.

_Shit. _

Victor Criss and Belch Huggins, who seemingly took it upon themselves to terrorize the younger kids of Derry after Henry got locked away.

The two older boys apparently just finished watching something; they’re coming out of one of the theater doors with empty popcorn buckets in hand. Even though Richie’s getting rapidly taller these days, they still are broader and feel impossibly bigger than him.

“Looks like a couple of queers to me,” Belch snickers to Victor.

“Leave us alone,” Eddie says, and Richie can tell he’s using every ounce of strength in him to keep his voice from shaking. Richie wants to hug him for being so brave.

“Look at this!” Victor croons, motioning between them, “They got popcorn to share and everything!”

“Fucking sick!” Belch laughs harshly.

The lobby was so busy, and yet somehow everyone else out there seems to be taking their sweet time coming back here. Fucking fantastic.

Victor takes a few steps closer to Richie, slow and purposeful, his eyes clouded over and dark. He comes to a spot only inches from his face, and their gazes lock. “Didn’t you know fucking faggots aren’t allowed in this town?” Victor hisses, spit landing on Richie’s glasses. Richie can’t help but find it cruelly ironic that he can take down a demonic clown and feel brave, but finds himself shitting his pants over facing some crackhead school bully.

He can feel his body shaking, his internal _I’m fucked! _meter is cranked up to an 11, but when he glances out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Eddie is starting to shake, and he just looks so _scared_, and he’ll be fucking damned if he lets anyone hurt Eddie.

And so, he does what he does best.

He starts talking.

“Then you better start packing, ‘cause you two are the gayest thing I’ve ever seen! Just fucking look at yourselves! I mean, what the fuck are you two doing alone here anyway? You don’t even got dates for a Friday night and you’re fucking Juniors? Fucking brutal. But who needs girls when you can jerk each other off watching _Mystery Date_, am I right?”

Eddie bursting out laughing is the last thing Richie hears before getting his lights punched out.

* * *

_He’s lying on his back,_

_ looking up at Eddie in the dark. _

_His face is wet — it’s raining? He can feel the thunderstorm rattling the earth, raindrops leaking through the ceiling and landing on his cheeks. _

_Eddie’s smiling down at him and then he’s kissing him, and they’re in the hammock and Eddie’s kissing him hard and Richie can’t move because he’s scared that if he does he’ll wake up and realize that this is all in his head. _

_Much too soon, Eddie pulls back, lips still hovering over Richie’s. _

_“Eddie—“_

_Eddie smiles, and Richie’s face is still wet, and Eddie whispers back—_

“RICHIE!”

And suddenly Richie’s awake, and Eddie’s not smiling down at him; instead, he’s kneeling and he looks scared as he clutches Richie’s face. And Richie’s not in the hammock, but sprawled out on the dingy red carpet of the movie theater hallway, and the reason his face is wet isn’t from rain, but from the blood streaming out his nose. Also, everything is blurry.

“Eddie?” Richie mumbles.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Eddie mumbles, letting go of Richie and sitting back on his heels, “You looked fucking dead.”

Richie sits up, rubbing at the back of his head. Miraculously, his glasses seem to have survived the punch, as they’re laying beside him perfectly intact. He grabs them and slips them on, blinking as the world comes back into focus. “It’s gonna take a whole lot more than two dumbass motherfuckers to take down Richard Big-Dick Tozier,” he says.

“Your middle name is not Big-Dick,” Eddie says, but he’s smiling with relief, “Shut the fuck up.”

Richie glances around. “How long was I out?”

“Like 5 minutes. Vic and Belch took off after...uh, you know?”

“Decking me?”

“Yeah.”

Silence settles over the pair for a moment, and Richie suspects that neither of them know what to say.

“Hey!” Eddie suddenly bursts, looking shy for some reason, “The good news is, I saved the popcorn!” He holds up the bucket, “They tried to take it but I wouldn’t let them.”

Eddie looks so stupidly proud of himself over this that Richie can hardly stand it. The smile he gives Richie as he shows him the popcorn is beyond fucking adorable and Richie wishes, not for the first time tonight, that he could kiss him.

He’s worried that if he talks, he’ll say something stupid again, like,_ I could kiss you for that, Eds_, or _hey, that was badass, let’s celebrate by making out for several hours. _So, instead, he just laughs, which proves to be a mistake since the action causes the blood that’s coming from his nose to sputter into his mouth.

“Shit,” Eddie mutters. He unzips his fanny pack and just like that, Dr. K is in session. He cups Richie’s face with one hand and grabs a tissue with the other.

“I told your mom I’d keep you safe,” Richie teases as Eddie blots at his nose.

“Doesn’t mean you have to get yourself killed,” Eddie grimaces, “We could have tried to walk away.”

“A punch isn’t killing someone, first off, and also, I’m not gonna let anyone talk shit about us.” He says his words more confidently than he feels them. In truth, Victor and Belch’s insults are still rattling around inside his brain violently, as if they have the power to shake his secret

(_his dirty little secret_)

loose.

Eddie fixes up Richie with impressive efficiency, and by the time he’s done, Richie’s feeling as close to good-as-new as he can, considering the circumstances.

“Thanks,” Richie mumbles as Eddie packs everything away.

“No problem.”

As Eddie stands up to go throw away the bloodied tissues, Richie rises to his feet and sighs. “Guess we missed the movie, huh?”

Eddie tosses the tissues into a nearby trashcan and checks his watch. “Only like 20 minutes. We could still catch the rest,” He pauses, smiling nervously, “I mean, only if you want to”

“I want to!” Richie says too quickly.

Eddie raises his eyebrows.

“I mean,” Richie blushes, “That’d be, uh, fine.”

Eddie smiles at him, and Richie feels his breath catch.

* * *

At the end of the night, Richie and Eddie walk their bikes back to Eddie’s house, talking about the movie. It’s one of those late-September nights that’s not quite cold, but not warm either. Richie looks at the side of Eddie’s face as he talks, watching as his features come in and out of focus as they pass under street lights.

“I just don’t fucking think dolls are scary,” Eddie rambles, looking at the sidewalk ahead, “All you have to do is kick them, and they’re down.”

“Yeah, but sometimes he has a knife,” Richie counters, “Then what?”

“Then kick him harder! He’s like, one foot tall!”

“All good points, Eds.”

“I know,” Eddie says confidently, “But whatever, all of those movies are pretty shit anyway.”

They’re nearing Eddie’s house now, and Richie can’t help but feel sad that the night’s coming to an end._ You had fun though, right?_ Richie wants to ask as they walk up to the side of Eddie’s house. But it sounds too cheesy, even in his head, so he settles with, “Your face is pretty shit.”

_Nailed it. _

Eddie leans his bike against his house and glances at Richie. “Your mom’s pretty shit.”

“Your _fanny pack_ is shit.”

Richie leaves his bike for now, and Eddie leads Richie to his front step. “Your…uh…bike is shit!” The porch light is left on, which either means Mrs. Kaspbrak is waiting up for Eddie, or fell asleep before turning it off. Considering it’s 9:30, Richie hopes for the latter.

Eddie stands with his back to the door, but doesn’t seem in any hurry to go inside. Richie doesn’t blame him, honestly.

“Your freckles are shit,” Richie says, standing in front of him.

Eddie’s brow furrows. “My freckles?”

_Shit. _Because that was too mushy, and now Richie’s staring at Eddie’s freckles, and Eddie’s staring back at him, and the silence between them is palpable.

“Yup,” Richie says, slapping Eddie’s cheek lightly. “Total shit.”

Eddie still looks a little confused but doesn’t press him further. “You’re so fucking weird,” he says instead, but not in a mean way.

_And that’s why you love me, _Richie almost says, but stops himself.

Except for the part where he doesn’t actually, because then Eddie’s eyes are widening a little, and he looks all flustered, and _why the fuck couldn’t Richie ever keep his mouth closed? _

“You wish,” Eddie finally says, but he breaks eye contact and tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear as he says it.

More silence. Richie hates this awkwardness between them, it fucking sucks. Part of him wishes they could go back to being 11 again, where they shared ice cream and snuggled in the park without giving it a second thought.

“Well, I guess I better get inside before my mom kills me,” Eddie says dryly. He glances up at Richie, and their gazes lock.

If this was a date, now would be the time for them to kiss. If this was a date, Richie would cup Eddie’s cheeks and pull him in for the best kiss of his life, probably soundtracked by that one old song by The Crystals about kissing. And Eddie would float back to his bedroom and fall asleep replaying the kiss in his head, and they’d live happily ever after, and all that cheesy shit.

But this isn’t a date. Because it could never be a date, and boys don’t date each other, not in Derry, and not with Richie and Eddie. Still, Eddie looks like he’s _waiting _for something. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet a little, looking up at Richie hopefully.

Richie doesn’t know what he wants. He as in Eddie, and he as in himself. He wants to kiss Eddie. He doesn’t want to kiss Eddie. He loves Eddie. He _loves _Eddie. It’s all so confusing and overwhelming, and the more he tries to sort through it, the more paranoid he feels that Eddie can somehow hear his thoughts and he’ll_ know. _

There’s no way to vocalize his feelings, and he’s pretty sure that he doesn’t even want to, and so, all Richie has to say is:

“Okay, goodnight!”

Eddie pauses, looking a little disappointed (Or does he? Maybe Richie’s just projecting). “Right…goodnight.”

And then he steps inside his house, closes the door, and the night is over.

Until a couple of seconds later, when Eddie opens the door, sticks his head out, and claims, “Tozier Town is shit,” before quickly shutting the door again with a proud grin.

  
And _then _the night is over.

And Richie can’t stop thinking about everything that happened tonight all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Google, "When the Pisces man is in love, he tends to be rather emotional. He becomes quite sensitive. He is easily swept up by his emotions." What a mood, honestly.
> 
> Also 1 Comment = 1 Tozier Town Citizenship for your cool self I don’t make the rules


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap in and grab a snack it's going to be a bumpy ride!

As time goes on, Richie finds himself actually getting good at his job. He goes from slipping on his roller skates once a shift to hardly ever. Plus, he’s totally mastered talking to customers. He basically just has to keep being his awesome hilarious self, minus some swearing, and presto!, he’s raking in a shit-ton of tips. Whoever knew that his ability to talk so much would be worth money someday?! If only his dad could see him now.

The week following their movie night, Eddie stops by after school one day with a stack of books under his arm. He shifts his feet as he waits in the doorway, smiling up at Richie in a way that can only be described as _cute_.

“Is it cool if I work on homework here?” He asks Richie.

Richie could point out that the library, both the school one and the public one, would probably be better places to study, but he’s not about to complain about getting to see Eddie. Plus, it quells his fears that all of the other Losers are off hanging without him and having fun whenever he’s not around.

“Sure thing, doll face,” Richie says in a voice that’s a little roaring twenties, a little Sean Connery.

Eddie rolls his eyes, smiling.

Richie escorts Eddie to an empty booth, where Eddie orders a strawberry milkshake and a burger.

Richie gasps as he jots down the order. “Call the goddamn presses!” He smiles, “Eddie Kaspbrak’s been converted!”

“Shut up,” Eddie blushes, slouching in his seat, “They’re good burgers.”

And apparently, they’re _really_ good burgers, because Eddie keeps coming back. It becomes a kind of routine for them: Eddie visits and works on homework, orders a burger and a strawberry shake, and Richie’s happier knowing he’s around. They don’t always talk a whole lot — Eddie’s real serious about his homework —but the days they do are always great.

When Richie’s having a lull with tables, sometimes he’ll slide into the other side of Eddie’s booth and just chat him up. Sometimes, if he’s feeling especially bold, he’ll even sit right next to Eddie. There’s just something that Richie loves about being in Eddie’s space. He loves being close enough to notice the shitty freckles on Eddie’s cheeks. He loves the way Eddie smells so _clean_ all the time, and not in a nauseating way, but like crisp cotton and eucalyptus-scented hand sanitizer.

Sometimes, Richie will relay the gossip he garnered from the waitresses. He loves the sharp intake of breath Eddie does when he learns something shocking, and the way his eyes widen in surprise. Richie tries to do this as much as he can since it gives him an excuse to lean in all close to Eddie and whisper into his ear, his lips sometimes brushing against him.

Because as guilty as Richie feels about wanting Eddie, he can’t NOT want Eddie. He tries to tell himself that it’s wrong, that it’s _dirty_, but his body won’t listen. The minute he sees Eddie, it’s like all he can think about is ways to get closer to him. Maybe his existence is cursed, because of this.

Another thing that Richie loves about Eddie’s visits: the notes. Eddie doesn’t tip, something he protested the first time he came alone.

“I don’t wanna waste your time!” He’d frowned, holding out a few bills to Richie, “You could be making actual money from the booth I’m taking up.”

Richie grabbed Eddie’s hand and closed it, forcing Eddie to hold onto his money. Also, he kinda held it, because he had an excuse to. “Eddie, my love, you being here is better than money!” He said it with an exaggerated sappiness in the hopes that Eddie wouldn’t know how much he actually felt that way.

“Fine, whatever, asshole,” Eddie sighed.

And so, when Eddie finally left at the end of the night, instead of money, Richie found a neatly folded-up piece of notebook paper.

Richie frowned as he set down his bus tub and unfolded the note. All it said was a simple _Thanks_, alongside a little doodle of a burger, but Richie loves it. He may or may not freak out over it just as much as he did the time someone left him a $15 tip.

The notes get more detailed over time; with Eddie writing insults (_Your uniform is dumb_) or insults disguised as compliments (_You didn’t look as dumb as usual today_ (: ). One time, he draws a bill of Tozier Town currency, which Richie wishes he could frame, honestly (even though, according to the bill Eddie draws, it’s worth -1 dollars).

He keeps all of the notes too. There’s a shoebox under his bed that he puts them all in, all the reminders that Eddie was once thinking of him and trying to make him laugh, which seems incredibly important somehow.

As October begins, there’s a new development: Eddie starts wearing sweaters. He’s wearing them more frequently in all different colors; deep green, orange, more blue, and even pink one day.

And of course, Richie has to make jokes about every one.

“Eds, that sweater’s bluer than my balls were last night after your mom kicked me out!” He says on blue-sweater-day as he passes by Eddie on his way to the kitchen.

“You’re so funny,” Eddie says flatly.

“Eds, that sweater’s pinker than your mom’s pu—“ Richie starts to say as he skates past on pink-sweater-day, but Eddie sticks his leg out and sends Richie flying.

Before long, Eddie becomes a familiar face around the diner, one entirely synonymous with Richie. 

On one Tuesday afternoon, Richie’s carefully and meticulously making a milkshake in the kitchen when one of the waitresses skates up to him. 

“You should invite your friend to work here,” she suggests.

Greta, who’s picking up an order from the cook line, rolls her eyes. “Because that’s just what we need; even more losers working around here.”

“Speak for yourself, Greta!” Richie scowls, “Least my dad didn’t fire me.”

“At least,” Greta says, ignoring him, “If boys are going to start waiting here, they should be cute, and not small-dick dweebs.”

Richie genuinely wonders at what point in history did someone ever tell Greta Keene that her opinions were relevant in any way whatsoever.

“Why would I want Eddie to work here?” Richie asks, turning his attention back to the other waitress.

She shrugs. “You guys are always talking so much, and he’s here like all the time.”

But Richie isn’t so sure. Ever since he started working here, he and Eddie have had a nice thing going. The notes, the whispered secrets, the banter — it’s all so delicate, so close to completely breaking. Like they’re able to be closer now since there’s this invisible barrier separating them: Richie’s got work, Eddie’s got homework. If Eddie started working here, that would all change. Maybe for the better, sure, but things could also get super messy super quickly. Richie would happily have confused feelings for his best friend for the rest of his life as long as they remained friends. Better to keep things like they are right now: intimate from a distance.

“So like, I just think it’d be fun for you if he did.”

“Uh, maybe,” Richie shrugs, adding the finishing touches to the milkshake.

“When’s his birthday?”

“What the fuck? September 3rd.”

“A Virgo! I do his natal chart and see if it’s a good idea.”

Richie doesn’t understand girls, like, any of them. Except for Bev (most of the time). “I’ll make sure to let him know,” he says, biting down on his lower lip to keep himself from laughing. He grabs his shake, hiding it behind his back as he skates back out to the dining room.

Eddie looks up from his Algebra textbook as Richie comes to a stop in front of his table. It’s a red sweater day, which brings out the color of Eddie’s cheeks (Richie is aware of, and totally hates, how sappy his Eddie thoughts are). “What the fuck are you laughing so hard about?” He asks suspiciously.

“Oh, nothing,” Richie grins, still failing to fight off the bursts of laughter he’s trying to hold back, “Just that—“

“What?”

“I told one of the waitresses your birthday. She called you a virgin and she’s going to do your _natal chart_. ”

Eddie’s brow knits in confusion. “What the fuck is that? I don’t want some random girl anywhere near my navel!”

“_Natal_, dipshit.”

“Whatever! Why are you giving out my birthday to people anyway? That’s private information! She could like, get into my social security with that!”

“Aw, Eds,” Richie sighs, “You’re adorable when you’re mad. Like an angry little puppy.”

“I’m not a puppy!” Eddie seethes, crossing his arms across his chest and pouting. “I just don’t want my fucking identity stolen!”

“Okay, whatever, I’ll tell her not to steal your identity. Now shut the fuck up, I made you something.”

Eddie’s opening his mouth to argue back before he pauses. “You...made me something?”

Richie nods. With a half-assed trumpet sound effect, he places the milkshake he made on the table in front of Eddie.

“What the fuck is this?” Eddie asks, but he’s smiling all hesitantly and sitting up a little straighter. The Algebra textbook is closed and pushed away.

“I present,” Richie says, transitioning into his game-show-host voice, “The Spaghetti Shake! It’s got 3 layers — chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry — with extra whipped cream on top! The rim of the glass is dusted with crushed Oreos, for a little extra flair and shit, and to top it all off is an official Derry Diner homemade chocolate chip cookie and TWO maraschino cherries!”

“This looks like it’s going to give me diabetes,” Eddie says, but he’s smiling and blushing really hard, “I’m probably going to have a heart attack.” He pulls the glass closer to look at it some more before glancing up at Richie. “How much time did you spend making this?”

_Uh, 20 minutes_. “Like 5 minutes,” Richie shrugs, “It was nothing.” He slips his hat off and sits in the booth across from Eddie, eager to see his reaction to trying the shake.

Eddie debates between using a straw or a spoon for several seconds before settling on a spoon. “I better not regret this,” Eddie says as he digs his spoon in, “I’ll probably hate it.”

“Uh-huh.”

And then Eddie’s actually trying it, and the little hum of contentment he gives as he tastes it makes Richie feel flustered.

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, and then, “I hate you.” And then he’s going back for more.

Richie can’t help but swell with pride. “I knew you’d love it,” He beams. He leans in closer and boops Eddie’s nose. “A sweet shake for a sweet Eddie Bear.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie replies between mouthfuls of the Spaghetti Shake.

Tuesday’s are usually pretty slow, which Richie is grateful for right now. It means that Eddie’s his only table until the dinner rush kicks in, so nothing is stopping him from just sitting here and watching Eddie enjoy his shake.

_Cute, cute, cute, _he thinks, blushing.

“These cherries are kinda gross,” Eddie says as he bites into one, “They taste like medicine.”

“They taste amazing; you’re fucking crazy, Eds.”

“No, they don’t! They’re gross-tasting and useless.” He finishes his off and sets the stem aside on a napkin.

“You’re literally eating one right now! And besides, they’re not ‘useless.’”

“How?”

“They make you a better kisser,” Richie teases.

Eddie pauses in eating his milkshake. “What?”

“Don’t you know how to tie a cherry stem, Eds?” Richie says mischievously.

Eddie looks confused. “What, like in my mouth? No, why would that even matter?”

“Because if you can, that means you’re good at kissing and blowing,” Richie winks.

Eddie’s cheeks turn a bright shade of pink as he frowns at Richie. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Nuh-uh,” Richie assures him, “It’s all about the tongue, watch.” He plucks the stem off one of the maraschino cherries atop the shake and slips it into his mouth.

Eddie sits back and crosses his arms over his chest, waiting and already unimpressed.

“You just use your tongue to fold it, hold it between your teeth, use your tongue to cross the ends, then use it to pull it through the loop,” Richie instructs in between swishing the stem around in his mouth to loosen it up.

“How do you know all this shit?” Eddie asks, but Richie’s already getting to work.

A minute passes before Eddie cuts in again. “Are you fucking done?”

Richie smiles with his mouth closed before holding out his hand and nodding. He takes out of his mouth and places in his hand —

— a perfectly mangled, chewed-up, spit-shiny cherry stem.

“Ew!” Eddie exclaims, recoiling, “That’s so gross! I knew you couldn’t do it!”

“It’s a work in progress!” Richie says defensively.

“You’re insane,” Eddie huffs, “Like, clinically.”

“I’d like to see you do better,” Richie counters.

And then the bell above the door rings and Richie looks up to see a table of four walking in. And he’s so busy moping that it’s his turn to take a table, that he doesn’t see the way Eddie glances down at the cherry stem he’d set aside earlier.

“Shit, Eds, gotta take this,” Richie says, getting out of the booth.

Eddie nods absentmindedly.

It only takes about 10 minutes for Richie to greet the new table, get them some Cokes, and place their order (He’s _efficient_, okay? Plus, they’re an easy table: 2 grilled cheeses and 2 BLTs, all with fries). Once he’s sent it off to the cook line, he skates back over to Eddie to check in on him.

“So, Eds, how’s everything—“

And then he notices how Eddie’s face is all scrunched up in concentration and his cheeks are moving around like he’s gargling mouthwash or something.

“Uh—“

And then Eddie opens his mouth, pulls out a perfectly tied cherry stem, and smirks at Richie.

_Ah. Wow. Ok then. _

“Guess I’m a better kisser than you,” he says smugly, tossing the cherry stem onto the table. He leans forward and starts sipping on the straw in his milkshake, and Richie feels his throat start to tighten (among, _uh_, other things).

“Y-you, uh, you’re...er...”

Words, what are WORDS? Why can’t he think of any? This never happens! He’s pretty sure he’s blushing like crazy, but it’s totally Eddie’s fault because he’s got his lips wrapped around that straw so _innocently_, and now Richie’s got all these images in his head of Eddie being really good at kissing him and Eddie taking him out back and getting on his knees and blo—

“Richie?” Eddie frowns.

“Y-You’re a fuck!” Richie sputters out, and then he’s skating back to the kitchen as fast as his gangly legs can take him, leaving a confused Eddie in his wake.

Needless to say, it isn’t his finest moment, and he spends the rest of the evening thinking about Sonia Kaspbrak’s muffin top, and shitty greywater, and that time Eddie ate too much cotton candy at the Canal Days Festival and threw up in a trash can, and everything that’s the exact opposite of blow jobs.

Eddie’s note that night just reads, _I guess the Spaghetti Shake wasn’t total shit you spaz_, and things feel a little more ok after that.

* * *

By next week, any remaining awkwardness between Richie and Eddie has completely faded, and things are back to normal. Thank god. Even though neither of them bring it up and they easily slip back into their old banter, Richie can’t shake the feeling that things are escalating between them. Slowly, but surely, they’re coming to some sort of point, and he’s still not sure if it’ll be good or not.

Wednesday is a pretty dismal October day. It’s overcast, gloomy, and windy. It rains off and on, but it’s so sporadic that it’s both impossible to enjoy the outdoors or snuggle up inside and enjoy a rainy day. The dead leaves rattle off damp branches in groups and swirl to the ground in little cyclones.

With it being such an iffy day, the diner is completely dead. After the usual dinner rush time comes and goes, and Eddie’s still the only one in the restaurant, the manager lets the other waitresses take off early. Richie alternates between talking with Eddie and doing mindless tasks like wiping the bar counter for the millionth time.

“So, what are we doing for Halloween?” Richie asks on one of his Eddie-breaks. He’s sitting next to Eddie in the booth as Eddie works on his Biology readings.

Eddie’s knee brushes against Richie’s as he shrugs. “I think Bill said that we were going to do a horror movie night. Ben’s already losing his shit.”

“Cool.” Richie yawns and rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder, snuggling his nose into the fabric of Eddie’s sweater. “Fuck me, Eds, it’s so fucking slow.”

“At least you don’t have to do any work,” Eddie reminds him. He’s still looking through his textbook, stopping only to jot down things in his notebook. Richie’s genuinely surprised that Eddie’s not nudging him off, but he’s not about to start complaining about it (_because it’s all so delicate, so close to completely breaking_).

“Yeah, but I’m also making zero tips,” Richie complains, “Where the hell is everyone anyway?”

“Maybe you finally scared them all off.”

“You wish. You just want me all to yourself.”

Eddie smiles all secretive but doesn’t say anything else. Richie tries not to think of what it could mean.

Eddie stays and works on homework until it’s 10 minutes to close. He’s got a big test coming up, or something, so Richie assumes that he probably just loses track of time.

The cooks have all left except for one, who’s only here in case some asshole waltzes in at the last minute and tries to order something. ‘Here’ is a relative term though — he told Richie he was going out back for a smoke 5 minutes ago, and to come find him if someone actually showed up. The manager is holed up in his office, as usual, probably snacking on a basket of onion rings or some shit. So, for now, it’s just Richie and Eddie.

_R + E, _his mind teases, but Richie hastily pushes the thought (_memory_) aside.

He’s mopping the dining room, counting down the minutes until he’s finally free. Maybe Eddie will walk home with him. If he doesn’t ask, Richie could probably think of some joke to convince him too.

In the corner, the jukebox is playing_ Monster Mash _for the billionth time. It’s been playing multiple times a day, every day since October began, and Richie swears that if he has to hear about dancing monsters one more time, he’s going to monster-mash his head against a wall.

As he mops, he glances over at Eddie. Eddie’s looking totally drained by his work: his eyelids are all droopy and the way his eyes are moving indicates that he’s just re-reading the same section of the page.

While Richie’s still staring, Eddie glances over at him.

_Shit. _Richie smiles nervously and looks away, but not before he sees Eddie smile back.

_Monster Mash _slowly, FINALLY, fades away, and Richie braces himself for more cheesy shit.

But instead, he hears a steady drumbeat, followed by some smooth synth, as TOTO’s _Africa _begins to play, and Richie grins, because, fuck yeah.

“_I hear the drums echoing tonight,_” Richie starts to sing, only slightly off-key, “_But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation_.”

He catches Eddie’s eye as Eddie looks over at him. Eddie’s giving him a look that signals that he acknowledges that Richie’s up to something, but doesn’t want any part of it.

“_She's coming in, 12:30 flight_,” Richie continues, “ _Her moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvationnnnn_ _!_” 

“You can’t fucking sing,” Eddie says, flipping to the next page of his textbook.

Richie grabs the handle of his mop and holds it like a mic, skating in a circle. “_I stopped an old man along the way_,” he sings, louder and awful-er, “_Hoping to find some old forgotten words or ancient __MELODIES!_”

“Oh my god. Shut the fuck up.”

“Sing with me, Eds!”

“Drop dead.”

Richie sets the mop against the wall and skates over to Eddie’s table. As he gets closer, he drops and knee-slides like a rockstar on stage, coming to a stop before Eddie.

Eddie’s staring back at him with a smirk. “This is the most cringey thing I’ve ever seen. I think I just lost a few brain cells.”

Richie grabs Eddie’s hands, tilts his head back, and belts out: “ _It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you! There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do_ _!!_” 

“My ears!”

Richie opens his mouth to sing the next part, but Eddie wiggles one of his hands free from Richie’s and places it over Richie’s mouth.

“You’re so fucking obnoxious!” Eddie smiles, but he’s _smiling _and he can’t take his eyes off of Richie.

Richie smiles back as he carefully gets to his feet. He starts to skate in place, moving his hips along to the beat. “C’mon! Dance with me, Eds!”

“No fucking way!”

“You know you want toooo.”

“Nuh-uh! This isn’t even a dancing song.”

“The hell it isn’t! It’s an everything song.”

“Wow. Poetic.”

“C’mon!” Richie says again, all pleadingly, and hopefully cutely. He doesn’t really know how you’re supposed to make yourself look cute, but he settles for showing off his school-picture-day smile and making his eyes go all hopeful.

It seems to work, if the way Eddie blushes and breaks eye contact means anything. “Oh my god,” he mutters as he slowly stands up.

Richie cheers, clapping Eddie on the back before pulling him into his arms. “Stand on my skates,” He instructs.

“This isn’t going to fucking work.”

“Just try!”

Eddie carefully balances his feet atop of Richie’s, biting down on his lip as he tries to concentrate on not falling. Doing so makes them the same height, which hasn’t been a thing since like, 6th grade. Once Eddie’s settled, Richie tries to move, but Eddie wobbles precariously.

“Oh my god!” Eddie yelps. He throws his arms around Richie’s neck and holds on tightly, and he’s kinda choking him, but it’s totally worth it.

_This works too_.

“Hold on,” Richie smiles. He holds onto Eddie’s waist, keeping him secure as he starts to spin them around. It’s hard for Richie to skate with Eddie standing on him, so Eddie lifts his legs. And now Richie’s the only thing holding Eddie up, and it feels like his neck is about to snap, but he doesn’t let go, doesn’t even consider it.

Eddie starts laughing as Richie skates them around the diner, and the vibrations of the action shake against Richie’s whole body. “_It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you!” _Richie sings as the chorus comes back in, “_There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do_!” 

Eddie buries his face in Richie’s neck and shakes his head. “You’re insane,” he mumbles, but Richie can feel him smiling.

“_I bless the rains down in Africa,” _Richie continues, but he’s getting tired of singing so exaggeratedly, and by the time he finishes the note, his voice is a comfortable, tired mumble.

And as the song continues to play, and Eddie smiles against Richie’s skin, Richie doesn’t think about his secret, or how Victor and Belch would kick his ass if they saw him like this. He doesn’t think about how this may be crossing a line: dancing with his best friend at 9 PM, in the warm lights of the Derry Diner, while the world is quiet and dark outside.

Because Eddie’s sweater is soft, and Eddie smells like eucalyptus, and Eddie feels like home, and in that moment, that’s completely enough.

* * *

They don’t talk about the whole dancing thing. At school the next day, everything is normal. They chat between classes, they eat with the rest of the Losers at lunch, and Eddie promises to swing by the diner after school.

Richie heads to work on a high, whistling as he skates into the dining room.

“Afternoon, ladies!” He says as he stops in front of the other waitresses. They’re huddled around the coffee machine exchanging the daily gossip before they stop to smile at Richie.

“Hey, Richie!” They say all excitedly.

“You’ve got someone at Table 6,” one of them says, handing him a menu.

Richie groans. “Already? I just got here!”

“You’re five minutes late,” Greta says, looking at her nails, “And we all got tables already.”

“Where the hell were all these people yesterday?” Richie grumbles as he skates off to Table 6.

Where he finds, without a doubt, the dreamiest-looking guy he’s ever seen. He looks a little older than Richie, but he’s got a backpack lying on the seat beside him, so he must be in some kind of school. His hair is all blonde and curly, and when he looks up at Richie, Richie notices that his eyes are this pretty hazel-brown that he could easily get lost in.

He looks like a member of one of Ben’s boy bands, and Richie feels his palms start to go clammy.

“Welcome to Richie!” He says nervously as he comes to a stop, donning his customer-service smile, “I’m the Derry Diner!”

The boy crinkles his forehead and smiles. “What?”

There has never been a time in his entire life that Richie has ever wanted to die more than he does right now. If the floor could just open him up and swallow him whole right now, that would be great, thanks.

“Kidding!” He manages to reply, trying to laugh it off, “Today’s daily special is shit jokes.” 

The boy laughs a little. “Good to know, Eric. I’m Richie.”

It takes Richie a second, but once he processes it, he snorts appreciatively. “Funny.”

Eric scans him up and down, and Richie feels small, but not in a bad way.

“So, uh, what can I get you to drink?”

“Yeah,” Eric turns his attention back to the menu, “I’ll just do a…Diet Coke.”

“Sounds good,” Richie nods, and then he’s heading off to the kitchen and trying not to fall on his face. On his way back, he passes by the front entrance in time to see Eddie walk in. He’s wearing a baby blue polo shirt and wine red cardigan that definitely makes him look like a divorced dad, but like, in a cute way.

“Hey, Eddie!” Richie smiles, coming to a stop.

Eddie smiles back at him, “Hey.”

Richie starts to move away, glancing back towards Eric. “I’ll be with ya’ in a second, Eds, I got another table.” He hands Eddie a menu from the stack they keep beside the door.

Eddie frowns and follows Richie’s gaze to Eric’s table. “Who’s that?” He asks all hesitantly.

“Just another customer,” Richie says, but he can feel himself blushing as he says it.

Eddie looks at Richie carefully, brow furrowing. “Okay…”

“Go ahead,” Richie says, already skating away, “Just go sit down!” He gets Eric’s Diet Coke with only slightly shaking hands and heads back to his table.

“One Diet Coke, Monsieur,” he says, setting the drink down in front of Eric.

“Merci,” Eric says back with a wink, and Richie’s genuinely not used to someone keeping up with his jokes like this, so he doesn’t know what else to do other than smile like an idiot.

“So, uh, what can I get you?” He says, taking out his notepad.

“I dunno,” Eric shrugs, “What’s good around here?”

Richie raises an eyebrow. There’s not a single person in Derry who hasn’t eaten here at least once in their lives. “You from around here?”

“No,” Eric admits, “I’m from California. I’m just staying with my grandparents this weekend, they have a farm up here and they have all these fall activities and stuff that they really want to do as a family or something.”

“California?!” Richie echoes, mouth gaping, “No shit!”

“Yup,” Eric smiles.

“Do you get to like, hang out with all the celebrities and shit?”

“No…but one time, I saw people filming a TV show down the street from my house. I think it was some cop show, or something.”

“Sweet,” Richie replies, nodding in respect.

Eric shrugs humbly.

Richie can’t really look at him any longer, it’s just too _much, _and turns his attention back to the task at hand. “Uh…anyway, I’d probably go with our grilled cheese, I guess. It’s really good.”

“I’ll go with that then,” Eric shrugs, closing his menu.

Richie blinks at him. “Really?”

“I trust you,” he says, and the words go right to Richie’s head, because suddenly he can’t think straight.

“O-One grilled cheese it is,” He says, blushing hard as he writes it down. He takes Eric’s menu and starts to head to the kitchen —

— Completely forgetting about Eddie, who’s waiting to have his order taken only a couple of booths away.

Eddie clears his throat as Richie skates by, and Richie comes to ajarring stop.

“Shit, sorry, Eds!” Richie exclaims as he turns around and goes back to Eddie’s table.

Eddie’s still frowning, now even more so. His posture is all stiff, and his mouth is scrunched up in an annoyed pout. “You were talking to that guy for a long time,” he complains.

“Yeah, sorry. I got distracted. That guy’s from California!”

Eddie looks like he wants to say something, but stops himself. Instead, he sighs and sets his menu down on the table. “Can I get a Spaghetti Shake?” He asks hopefully.

Richie winces. “Shit, I would, but I’m kinda busy right now. Those take like forever to make.”

“You said it took 5 minutes!”

_Shit. _“Uh…yeah…but…I haven’t made one in a while, and I got other tables to help…”

“What, like that guy?” Eddie replies bitterly.

“Eric?”

“He has a name?”

“Uh, no shit? Everyone does.”

“That’s not what I —“ Eddie stops and shakes his head, looking annoyed. “Fine, whatever. I’ll just have a —“

“Strawberry shake and a burger?” Richie offers.

Eddie doesn’t seem to care that Richie’s memorized his order. “Sure.”

Richie hates seeing him all pouty, but he can’t tell what’s wrong. Maybe Eddie’s just having an off day or something. “Tell you what, Eds: I’ll make you a Spaghetti Shake later,” he offers, “Once I’m not busy.”

Eddie closes his menu and hands it to Richie without looking at him. “Sure,” he says again.

Richie gives him a wary look, but doesn’t say anything as he skates off to pass off Eric and Eddie’s orders to the cooks. If Eddie wants to be all pissy for no reason, then let him.

As he waits for the orders to finish, he tries to subtly check out Eric. He’s sitting in his seat patiently, looking out the window at the autumnal-colored trees that flank the diner. He really is unfairly attractive; like, it should be illegal to be a regular person and look that much like a movie star. He should’ve known Eric wouldn’t be from around here.

He’s heard that people are more accepting out there. Like, maybe, if a guy wanted to like another guy, it would be ok in California, and not a death sentence like in Derry. Richie swallows nervously, even though he’s just standing alone behind the bar.

He feels a weird tingling from the side of his head like he’s being watched. He glances over and sees Eddie glaring at him. Richie hopes he didn’t see him staring at Eric, but considering how Eddie looks away all irritated, he probably did.

A few minutes later, Eric’s order is up. Richie grabs it along with another Diet Coke and heads over to Eric.

“One grilled cheese,” He says, setting it down. He wonders if Eddie can hear what they’re saying — his booth isn’t that far away.

“And you got me a Coke!” Eric smiles, “I didn’t even tell you that I needed a new one.”

“I saw you were running low,” Richie shrugs, nodding toward the empty glass on the table.

Eric raises an eyebrow. “Were you watching me?”

Richie feels his face burn with shame. “W-What?! No way, dude.”

“It’s okay if you were,” Eric says, voice low.

Richie’s stunned before he gradually starts to smile back at Eric. “Oh,” he says, too flustered to say anything else.

They’re interrupted by the chime of one of the cooks hitting the bell in the kitchen. Order up.

“Gotta go,” Richie says regretfully.

Eric just smiles back as Richie goes to the cook line. Sure enough, it’s Eddie’s burger. Richie quickly throws a strawberry milkshake together before going over to Eddie’s table.

Eddie’s drumming his leg on the floor impatiently as Richie arrives. “What took you so long?” He complains.

“Don’t look at me! I don’t make the food!” Richie defends as he sets the burger and shake down.

Eddie looks at the food before him for a second before turning to Richie with a disgusted look. “This looks like shit.”

Richie snorts. “Alright, Eds.”

“No,” Eddie continues, pushing the plate away, “I mean it literally looks like shit. I want a new one.”

“Are you kidding me?” Richie laughs in disbelief.

Eddie crosses his arms and looks up at Richie stubbornly. _He’s being serious?! _

“Fuck off, I’m not making you a new one!” Richie scoffs, “There’s nothing wrong with it!”

“I don’t want it.”

“Then order something else!”

“No! I want you to make a new one!”

“Why are you being such a bitch?”

“I’m not being a bitch!”

“You kind of are!”

“I just don’t want shitty food!”

“You’ve been eating the same thing every day!”

“Well, it fucking sucks today,” Eddie says, voice suddenly thick with an emotion Richie can’t pin down.

“Not my problem,” Richie mutters. He gives Eddie one last annoyed look before going back to check in on Eric.

“How’s everything tasting?” He asks, but his heart isn’t really in it. _Why the hell is Eddie so mad at him? He didn’t DO anything! God, Eddie could be such a little prick sometimes — _

“It’s amazing!” Eric says earnestly, wiping off his mouth with a napkin, “You were right!”

“Great.” Richie gives him a half-hearted smile and glances back at Eddie.

Eric follows his gaze before frowning slightly. “Sounded like you had a tough customer,” he says, motioning toward Eddie.

“You have no idea.” Richie says, and knowing that Eddie can probably hear him from two booths away, scoffs dismissively, “A real pain in the ass.”

Eddie stands up abruptly, accidentally knocking his milkshake onto the table and sending his silverware clattering to the floor. He earns several startled looks from other diners, but he doesn’t seem to care as he storms toward the front door.

“Hey!” Richie snaps, watching him go, “What the hell?!”

Eddie ignores him, shoving the door open and causing the bell to ring aggressively.

Richie follows him out, not stopping to second-guess it. He has to stomp his feet to avoid slipping on his skates as he descends the front steps of the diner.

Eddie’s walking to the bike rack, still fuming, as Richie follows him.

“What the actual fuck, Eddie?” Richie snaps, “Are you going to clean that shit up?”

“Leave me alone!” Eddie snaps back, trying and failing to undo the padlock securing his bike. His fingers are shaking too hard and he keeps messing up the combination.

“No! Why the hell are you so pissed off at me?”

“I’m not pissed at you!”

“Stop bullshitting!”

Eddie can’t get the lock to unlock, so he drops it and storms off, circling around to the back of the diner. Richie follows him, kicking off his stupid skates in the process and walking on the gravel and dirt in just his socks.

Eddie starts pacing behind the diner. There’s nothing back here but trash cans and a whole lot of trees that stretch on into the Barrens. It’s secluded, probably so much so that Eddie could kick Richie’s ass and no one would even know. Great.

Richie watches him pace around for a few moments before growing frustrated with the silence. “Eddie! Talk to me!”

“No!”

“You can’t just start shit and then say nothing!”

“You were being rude!” Eddie bursts, stopping his pacing to stand in front of Richie, fists clenched.

“Rude!?”

“You totally forgot that I was even there! All you did was talk to that dumb California guy!”

“What, so now I’m not allowed to _talk _to people?!” Richie snorts, “That’s literally my JOB, dipshit! Jesus, you’re so fucking controlling!”

“It’s not just that!”

“Then what?! _What the hell is it?_”

“_You wouldn’t understand!_” Eddie nearly shouts, glancing at Richie.

“What?” Richie exclaims, “What the fuck couldn’t I understand, Eddie?”

And then, while Richie is still angry and still glaring at Eddie, Eddie grabs his cheeks and pulls Richie against him for a furious kiss.

_What the f u c k. _

Richie nearly passes out from shock, because EDDIE is KISSING him. Pretty aggressively, too. His fingers are digging into Richie’s cheekbones, and his mouth is moving fast and with a hard pressure. God, his fucking _mouth_ — whoever came up with that cherry stem test was brilliant and accurate, because Eddie’s lips on his is the best thing Richie’s ever experienced. They’re soft and light and taste like a strawberry milkshake, and Richie wants — _needs_ — more.

As soon as Richie regains his bearings, he’s shoving them backward until Eddie’s back is up against the brick wall of the diner. Eddie hits the wall with a slam that causes him to gasp a little and deepen their kiss. He digs his fingers into Richie’s hair roughly, knocking Richie’s hat off, but Richie could give less of a shit about where it ends up. He eagerly matches Eddie’s tempo — sloppy and angry and desperate.

He vaguely wonders if Eddie’s done this before, but deep down knows that he can’t have. Richie will be Eddie’s first kiss — his first real full-on makeout — and the thought makes Richie feel proud.

Eddie bites down on his lip, hard. Richie bites back, and the little moan Eddie emits is incredible. It sounds even better than porn, but Richie knows for a fact that Eddie would hate that as a compliment.

Shit, what should he do with his hands? Eddie’s got that covered — the lucky bastard, but Richie has literally no idea what to do. He doesn’t want to copy Eddie by cupping his face or his hair, and grabbing his ass seems way too forward...

He settles for Eddie’s hips. Eddie’s hips, which Richie’s large hands easily engulf. Eddie’s hips, which Eddie presses right against Richie’s as soon as Richie grabs them.

“Fuck,” Richie whispers, and Eddie smirks against his lips.

He’s not sure how much time passes — it could easily be a minute, an hour, or a year — but as they continue to kiss, their bites and furious touches eventually slow into something softer, something much more intimate. They begin to kiss lazily and easily, mouths moving open as if of their own accord. Richie hopes he’s doing everything right as he tentatively lets his tongue slip in, and if the way Eddie hums into him is any indication, then he is.

He is in love with Eddie Kaspbrak and he is in love with kissing Eddie Kaspbrak and he never wants this moment to end.

Eddie pulls back and starts sucking on Richie’s neck. Richie never imagined that Eddie would be so _forward_, but then again, all that energy he builds up worrying about literally everything probably needs some outlet.

He holds back a laugh as he lets Eddie keep kissing him. He’s not laughing because he finds something funny, though. He’s just happy. So, so happy.

“What’s so funny?” Eddie whispers against his skin.

“It’s just,” Richie says, smiling stupidly, “What are we doing, Eds?”

“Just stop talking,” Eddie says back, kissing his neck harder.

“But—“ He needs to know, he needs to hear Eddie say it back. He needs Eddie to love him as much as he loves Eddie.

And perhaps that’s what undoes everything.

Because Eddie doesn’t say it back. Instead:

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Eddie says bluntly.

Richie feels his heart sink. Or, not really sink, but rather tip-toe off a very tall building. “What?”

“Just don’t think about it,” Eddie insists, but how the fuck is Richie supposed to do that? What the hell does that even mean?

Richie lets his hands drop as he takes a step back and nudges Eddie off him. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘this doesn’t mean anything’?” He asks slowly.

Eddie’s face is flushed red as he blinks up at Richie, startled. “I...I was just screwing around, you know?”

Every part of Richie — especially his pants — is pleading with him to drop it, to go back to making out with Eddie like nothing happened. He could be grinding against the boy of his dreams right now if he just DROPS IT.

But he can’t ignore it. It’s crawling into his head and clouding his thoughts and all he can think about is how it _doesn’t mean anything_.

“What, so...just...so like, kissing people is just like a joke to you?”

“No!”

“Then why’d you kiss me?”

“I...I felt like it!”

“Why?!”

“I don’t know!”

Richie snorts and rolls his eyes. “That’s...that’s great.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “What?”

“That’s just kind of a dick move,” Richie says, trying to make his tone as judgmental as he can, because he’s starting to get annoyed. Like, really annoyed. “Just kissing people for the fuck of it.”

“Don’t be a fucking hypocrite!” Eddie snaps, “You kissed me! Two years ago in the fucking hammock!”

“Yeah, but you kissed me back!”

“Because you kissed me first!”

“So?!”

“So, if you weren’t just fucking around too, why didn’t you say something?!”

“Because you never said anything about it! You just told me to fuck off and go to sleep like nothing happened!”

“Why do _I_ have to say something? Since when do YOU have a problem talking?!”

“Since YOU started making out with people whenever you fucking felt like it!”

“Oh, shut the hell up,” Eddie laughs cruelly, and there’s no humor in it. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite!”

“How?!”

“Like _you_ haven’t been fucking with me when you feel like it!”

“What? No, I haven’t!”

“Touching me all the time!” Eddie snaps, counting off things on his fingers, “Dancing with me? Making me fucking milkshakes? Taking me to movies?”

“You really think that was me just fucking around? That all of that meant nothing?!”

“Well, did it?!”

Richie swallows. He wants to be mad, he wants to be _furious_, but now all those things that previously meant so much — the notes, the secret smiles, the way Eddie cupped his face at the theater — are fracturing. He thought that maybe, just maybe, they could mean something. But now he sees how upset Eddie is, and now he knows that while he was hoping that Eddie would notice him, Eddie just thought that Richie was fucking with him. He was just secretly annoyed the whole time and probably wanted Richie to stop. Fucking fantastic. Denial is the only thing he has left right now, the only way to protect himself.

“I guess so,” Richie says dryly, “Guess I was just messing around too.”

“See?!” Eddie snaps, “So stop bullshitting and trying to put all the blame on me, you fucking asshole! I never asked for all this and I’m sick of it, okay?!”

But that doesn’t add up. Even though Richie’s still mentally re-analyzing everything that’s happened between them, doubting everything, ashamed and embarrassed, he also knows that’s not the full story.

Richie glares at him. “Right, so I’M the asshole, now?” He steps closer to Eddie, jabbing him in the chest, “If the whole time, you were so secretly sick of me fucking messing with you, why do you keep coming here every week?!”

“Here?” Eddie echoes, looking somewhat offended.

“To the diner, dumbass!”

“What does that matter?!”

“It matters because you liked it!” Is he even saying actual words right now? His brain is moving so fast. Words are spitting out straight from the deepest depths of his heart where all his wildest and most improbable hopes reside.

“_So what if I did?!_”

“_Because if you liked it you fucking like me!_”

Richie’s words hang in the air between them, impossible to ignore. They’re both breathing hard, chests moving fast. Eddie’s blinking up at him, terrified.

“I’m don’t…I’m not—I’m not—“ Eddie stammers, and it’s like he can’t even bring himself to say the last word, it’s just that _horrible_.

“What, a fucking queer?” Richie nearly spits. He sees Victor’s sneer in his head and forces the image away.

“I’m not!” Eddie insists angrily, sounding like he’s about to cry, “I’m not!”

“Then why the hell did you kiss me?”

“I care about you! You’re my best friend!”

“If we were best friends, we wouldn’t fuck around with each other’s heads! This wouldn’t keep happening!”

“I didn’t mean to mess things up! We used to screw around all the time, like when we were kids—“

“We’re not fucking kids anymore!” Richie snaps, squeezing his hands into fists, needing to hold onto something, anything. “Things are different now!”

“Why?! Why is it different? Why does everything have to change? I just fucked up, okay? Why the fuck are you making a big deal out of this?!”

“Why aren’t YOU?!”

“Because I’m not _fucking gay!_”

Eddie’s lips are pink and slightly swollen from their activities, and his hair is all perfectly tousled, and it’s not fucking fair that Richie’s even thinking about these things while Eddie’s ripping out his heart and chunking it into the dumpster. It’s not fucking fair that he still thinks Eddie’s beautiful when Eddie clearly thinks he’s awful. It’s not fucking fair that Eddie is amazing and Richie’s wrong and dirty and literally crazy to think that someone like Eddie could ever love him the way Richie loves him.

They fall silent for several moments. The adrenaline gradually beats away, leaving nothing in its wake. A few cars drive by, the trees rustle, and birds are chirping as they fly overhead in a clean v-formation.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie whispers.

When Richie finally speaks, he feels drained. Like every hopeful _what-if_ that’s kept him going for these past years is completely gone, leaving him hollow and apathetic.

“Just get the fuck out of here,” Richie says, and his voice cracks but he’s _not going to cry he will not cry he refuses to cry. _

“Richie—“

“_I said get out!_” Richie repeats, glaring at Eddie, because if he’s not crying then he has to be pissed off. Fuck Derry. Fuck Eddie. Fuck himself. Fuck everything. “Fucking LEAVE!”

“No!” Eddie snaps back, clenching his fists. Not to punch Richie though; it’s more like he’s trying to keep himself from exploding, just like Richie.

“I don’t want to see you!”

“I don’t fucking care!”

_Leave,_ he needs Eddie to_ LEAVE_, because if he has to look at Eddie any longer he knows he will completely fall apart.

And so, Richie looks toward the sky and pulls the trigger.

“I fucking hate you.”

Richie’s not 100% sure, but it sounds like Eddie gasps at that, just a little, real quick and harsh. “...What?”

“You heard me.”

“But...”

The gray sky stares back at Richie blankly.

“You said you could never hate me,” Eddie whispers, and he sounds so heartbroken, so entirely vulnerable and pathetic, Richie almost takes it all back right then and there.

Almost.

“Fucking fine then,” Eddie says, voice hoarse, after Richie continues to say nothing, “I...I fucking hate you too.”

And just like that, he turns on his heel and storms off.

Richie waits to hear his footsteps fade away. He waits until the spokes of Eddie’s bike turning are long gone. And he waits until the end of his shift, and until he bikes all the way home and until makes it to his bedroom.

And then, he completely breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That shit hurted 🙃Someone help these boys...they are truly confused and very idiot 
> 
> Please leave comments I know I sound greedy but I literally love hearing everyone's thoughts and you're all so amazing okay


	3. Chapter 3

****It’s the day after their fight — Friday. Richie can’t even picture what it’d be like to be at school with Eddie today, so he chooses to skip it. He fakes sick in a performance that Ferris Bueller would be envious of: he blows a hairdryer on his forehead, leaves his thermometer on his bedroom radiator, licks his palms to make them all clammy — the whole shebang. Thankfully, it works.

After his mom tucks him in bed, kisses him on the forehead, and wishes for him to get better, she stops in the doorway to his bedroom.

“Just so you know, your father and I are very proud of you,” She says, giving him a warm smile.

“For what?” Richie asks with a ‘cough’.

“For getting a job! And for sticking to it.”

“Uh, ok.”

“You’re getting so grown up,” she continues, and then she starts getting all teary-eyed in that way that his parents always do whenever they realize he isn’t a toddler or something anymore.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

She leaves him alone after that, which Richie’s grateful for (he never knows what to say when his mom gets all mushy), but also a little disappointed for. Because now he’s all alone in his bedroom and there’s nothing to keep away the dark thoughts that hover above him like a thundercloud.

He’d cried himself to sleep last night. There’s no way to phrase it and not make it sound hopelessly pathetic. When he’d woken up, the tears had dried on his face, his whole body was sore, and it felt like his brains had been scooped out of his head.

He still doesn’t get how things went so wrong. How could you go from kissing someone to telling them that you hated them in less than 5 minutes? What the actual fuck? He doesn’t know who was more at fault, either, so he can’t even funnel his energy into hating Eddie like he said he did.

And, as if the scenes he keeps replaying in his head aren’t enough, he has a hickey. Eddie fucking Kaspbrak gave him an actual hickey yesterday (he had the blankets up around his neck when he was talking to his mom earlier, so she didn’t seem to notice, thank fuck). Looking at it in the bathroom mirror makes him feel equally thrilled and saddened. Because his dumb brain STILL can’t stop picturing Eddie’s lips on him, even after all the shit that happened after it.

He thinks about that one weird saying that love and hate are two sides of the same coin, or however it goes. He kinda gets what it means now.

He spends most of his sick day lounging around in bed, re-reading old comic books, listening to the radio, and napping. It’s pretty dull, to say the least, and he somehow feels even more exhausted after a day of doing literally nothing. Sometime around 3:30, his mom shouts from downstairs that he has a phone call.

_Eddie?_

_“Be right there!” _Richie calls down, adding a fake sneeze just to be safe.

Maybe Eddie’s going to apologize, like, _sorry I said our kiss didn’t mean anything, Rich. It meant everything and I love you so much and your jokes. Fuck Derry. Let’s date and make out for several hours and possibly get married and adopt a dog. _

But it sounds too lame, even in his head.

Richie swallows nervously as he heads downstairs to the phone. His palms are clammy — for real this time — as he picks up the receiver that his mom’s left hanging.

He takes a deep breath to make sure that HE IS VERY CASUAL AND VERY COOL RIGHT NOW AND NOT NERVOUS AT ALL. He carefully lifts the receiver to his ear.

“Hello?”

“H-hey R-Richie.”

Richie would be lying if he said he wasn’t the teensiest bit disappointed. “Oh, hey, Big Bill. What’s up?”

“Are you ok-k-kay? Y-You weren’t in school today,” Bill says.

Richie considers telling Bill that he was sick, but doesn’t really see the point in lying to one of his best friends. “I just felt shitty today,” he mumbles.

“Oh, I’m s-sorry,” Bill says. He pauses for a second before asking, “Is Eddie with you?”

Richie blushes, annoyingly. “No. Why?”

“He w-wasn’t at school today e-either.”

Eddie must’ve faked sick too, then. It would’ve been easy for him: all he’d have to do is cough funny and Mrs. Kaspbrak would’ve sent him right back to bed with a thermometer in his mouth, a bowl of chicken noodle soup in his hands, and an ungodly amount of cough syrup at the ready.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Richie mutters, “He’s probably just holed up with his mom catching up on _Days of Our Lives_.”

“I’ll call him to make s-sure he’s okay. D-Do you want us to come visit you?”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“You s-swear?”

Richie shifts in place awkwardly and holds the phone a little tighter. “I _will_ be fine,” he says, which isn’t so much of a lie as it is a desperate wish.

* * *

He goes out to the mailbox Saturday morning to find that his latest paycheck has arrived. And between the money he saved after the movies, his last paycheck, his tips, and this paycheck, he officially has enough for a Super Nintendo.

Fucking finally!

He hurries back inside to tell his parents the good news, and he won’t lie: as annoying as they can be sometimes, it is pretty sweet to see the proud looks they give him.

He’s never biked faster than he does when he visits the bank and then the electronics store. When he finally makes it home with the console, two controllers, and two games, he feels beyond amazing. He has to officially be the coolest kid in school now, being one of the first people to get a Super Nintendo. Most of the other kids in the Sophomore class complain about having to wait until Christmas to get theirs.

He can’t stop smiling as he sets everything up with the basement TV. As soon as it’s ready, Richie runs back upstairs and dials Eddie’s number. Eddie’s going to lose his shit when he finds out Richie actually got a SNES. Maybe he could come over and they could play _Super Mario World _together!

He’s so excited to tell Eddie that he nearly forgets that he and Eddie are fighting right now. But once he remembers, the phone is dialing and the realization hits him with the force of a freight train.

They’re not just fighting, they’re done. History. Broken beyond repair. Burned to the ground.

_Shit, shit, shit. _

Eddie picks up the phone, sounding hesitant. “Hello?”

Richie hangs up immediately, heart pounding.

Eddie doesn’t have Caller ID, so there’d be no way for him to _know_ know, but what if he figured it out somehow? How many people even called him? Whatever, even if Eddie doesn’t know, Richie still feels humiliated.

His hands are shaking like crazy as he puts the receiver back, and even still as he heads back downstairs to play video games alone.

* * *

But it’s all okay, because Eddie’s not mad at him anymore.

They’re at the arcade playing Street Fighter together, and Richie’s totally annihilating Eddie.

Eddie’s shouting out a string of expletives as he jams down on the buttons passionately. “You’re a fucking cheater!” He exclaims as Richie continues to pummel him.

“No, you just suck ass, Eds!” Richie laughs back. He delivers the finishing blow and turns to grin at him cockily. “How’s it feel to be destroyed?”

Eddie’s already smiling back. “You didn’t destroy me, I let you win, dipshit.”

“Okay, so first I’m a cheater, and now you let me win? Pick a reason you suck ass, Eds.”

He expects Eddie to shoot back another insult, but instead, Eddie just keeps smiling and grabs Richie’s hand. “Let’s go to the photo booth,” he says, tugging on Richie.

Richie blushes and nods. “Okay.”

And then he’s squeezing next to Eddie inside the booth, and Eddie’s wearing his red shorts, and his bare thigh is pressing against Richie, and Richie’s having trouble breathing.

Eddie turns to look at Richie, their faces close in the cramped space. He smells like cherries. “What face should we do first?”

“Dorky faces,” Richie grins.

“So, I should just look like you?” Eddie smirks.

“Screw you.”

They both turn back to the camera. Eddie sticks out his tongue and crosses his eyes, and Richie puckers his lips like a fish and fans out his hands around his cheeks.

The camera flashes, blinding and white, and when Richie can finally see again, Eddie is leaning close to him.

“What next?” He whispers, biting down on his lip a little.

Richie glances down at Eddie’s mouth, unable to help himself. “Uh…”

Eddie looks at him like he’d looked up at him that night after the movies, all soft expectant smiles and wide brown eyes. “Richie?” He whispers, voice gentle and inviting.

Richie takes a breath before slowly raising a hand to cup Eddie’s cheek. Eddie leans into the touch and Richie moves closer, pulling Eddie in. And then their lips are so close, and Eddie’s words are floating through his head like a song, _what next what next what next what next — _

Richie’s lips have only brushed over Eddie’s for a second before Eddie’s pulling back with a jolt.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Eddie laughs, shaking his head.

“Oh,” Richie freezes. “I….I just thought—“

“Don’t you know you’re not allowed in this town?” Eddie looks him right in the eyes, still laughing as he replies, “Besides, I told you Richie: _I’m not fucking—“ _

There’s a brilliant burst of white light as the camera flashes, and Richie wakes up in his basement breathless. He sits up quickly, blinking around at his surroundings and rubbing the sleep crust out of his eyes. He’s on the couch in front of the TV, the _Game Over _screen of the game he was playing staring back at him. The cellar windows that line the ceiling are pitch black, meaning its most likely some absurd hour of the night.

Richie breathes out, rubbing at his eyes and collapsing back on the couch. “Just a dream,” he whispers to himself.

  
Even though, deep down, he knows it wasn’t really. Because Eddie really said that, and they really aren’t friends, and somehow, knowing all this makes real life feel way worse than that stupid dream.

* * *

Sunday afternoon, he finds himself at the kissing bridge. He’s staring at his old carving, clutching the knife in his hand tightly. It’s cold, his bike is off to the side, and he’s alone.

Even though it’s barely been 2 years since he came here, it feels like it happened a lifetime ago. He remembers how nervous he’d felt, terrified that Henry or Eddie would appear over his shoulder at any moment and catch him — he wasn’t sure who’d be worse. He remembers how deep and all-consuming his feelings had been, so much so that he needed to express it someway. Carving their initials had been the only way he knew how to deal with it all, and now, undoing it is the only way he can think to end it all.

He grips the knife tightly and kneels before the initials, scowling at how they almost seem to mock him. They’re scornful of his naiveté, mocking of his stupid youthful optimism. Because of course, 13 year-old Richie thought getting his crush to like him back was as simple as carving their names into wood. That by grouping them in with other lovers, they’d love each other too.

_But we’re not fucking kids anymore. _

Richie’s eyes are stinging, but he tells himself it’s just from the October chill. He narrows his gaze and raises his the knife, determined to scratch it all out, to undo all the hurt and hope and loss. Fuck Eddie. Fuck everything.

But he can’t do it. Because the second his knife touches the wood, he crumples. Because he doesn’t want to undo anything at all, he realizes.

He doesn’t hate Eddie. He doesn’t wish he could forget Eddie, or undo him.

He just wants him. Every broken, sad, pathetic fiber of his being aches for Eddie, and he has no fucking clue what to do about it.

* * *

The next week that passes is beyond shitty. Monday morning comes with a heavy dread, especially since Richie knows he can’t fake sick again. You can only use a get-out-of-jail-free card so many times. Surprisingly though, he doesn’t run into Eddie anywhere. Their lockers aren’t by each other, they don’t have any classes together this semester, and Richie eats lunch outside on the football bleachers like a true loser.

On Tuesday, Bethany — the waitress who was beyond obsessed with astrology — delivers on her promise to analyze Eddie.

Richie is sulking behind the bar when she skates over to him, blonde ponytail swinging.

“I studied Eddie’s compatibility,” she says, as straightforward and ordinarily as she’d announce that she just took a new table or wiped the counter.

Richie props his elbows up on the counter and rests his chin in his hands. “No offense,” he says tiredly, “But I don’t think I’m in the mood right now.”

“But it’s good news!” She insists, “You’re a Pisces and he’s a Virgo, which means you have very high compatibility.”

Richie’s not sure if he believes in all this shit, but he can’t help but perk up a little at that. “We do?”

She nods. “You guys are mostly opposites, but you have a lot more in common than you think, and a very strong connection.”

Richie gives her a skeptical look. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. Eddie brings stability and logic, while you help him relax and learn how to have fun. Even though he can be obsessive sometimes, you help him free himself from insecurities, and in return, he’ll support you and your talents, even if he tries to cover it up with criticism,” Bethany recites, “That’s probably why you’re such good friends. And it means that my intuition was right: you two working together would be very harmonious.”

Richie balks at her, as freaked out as he is impressed. “What the fuck? You figured that all out by looking at dumb stars?”

Bethany pouts. “Astrology is REAL. It’s not just dumb stars.”

“Uh, sure, okay.”

“I’ve done compatibility tests for everyone here,” she continues defensively, “I have to make sure that we all can get along.”

Richie snorts. “Who the fuck is Greta compatible with?”

“Heather!”

Richie wants to keep laughing the whole thing off, but he’s just so curious.

“Okay, so like, what else do the stars say? About me and Eddie, I mean.”

“You have to be careful when it comes to trusting each other,” Bethany says gravely, “Being a Virgo, Eddie may have some trust issues that you won’t be able to fix, and you both can give into dishonesty easily.”

Richie swallows as he feels his cheeks start to warm. “Then what the fuck should we do?”

“Be honest, and don’t be afraid of change,” Bethany shrugs, “You both care about each other so much, and if you open up to each other, you’ll be able to handle anything.”

She makes it sound so simple. Opening up to Eddie = a lifetime of happiness. But how the hell is he supposed to be honest with Eddie when he can’t even be honest with himself?

* * *

Because he’d do anything to be friends with Eddie again. He misses Eddie’s laugh, and the way he tries to hold it back because he doesn’t want Richie to know he’s funny. He misses Eddie’s dumb fanny pack, he misses his notes. He misses his best friend.

And so, if the stars say that honesty will get Eddie back, Richie will do it. He’d do whatever it took to get back Eddie, even if it means drudging up the aspects of himself that he’s tried to run from the most.

It’s Tuesday night, he’s home from work, he’s in his pajamas, and he’s staring at himself in his floor-length mirror. The lights are low, except for the dorky lava lamp Ben got him for one of his birthdays, which is filling the room with a warm orange glow. He’s got the radio playing softly, because silence would be too much.

He studies his face, his long limbs, his messy hair, his big glasses. He’s always wondered if people could see his secrets just by looking at him, but he knows he’s just being paranoid. All they probably see is what he’s seeing now: a scared, weird-ass kid.

He thinks about the first time he saw Eddie, back in the first grade. How Eddie had let Richie share his 64-crayon set (with a sharpener!), and how they’d held hands as they walked to the school bus. He’d had this fluttery, excited feeling in his gut whenever he was around Eddie, one that never went away with time.

He thinks about Henry’s cousin at the arcade, and how pretty his eyes had been.

He thinks about how, the first time he stole a porno tape, he was way more interested in what the guy was doing than what was happening to the girl.

He thinks about Eric, and how nice he’d been, and how he was from California and didn’t seem bothered by the fact that Richie was a guy.

He thinks about Eddie again, always Eddie, and how it felt to kiss him. It felt right. It felt like coming home, like it was the only thing that made sense in this fucked-up town.

The clock on his stand says that it’s midnight. He’s got school tomorrow, but right now, that doesn’t matter. He has to conquer this first.

Richie takes a deep breath, looking at his reflection, as he prepares to say the words that have threatened to destroy him so many times.

“I’m gay,” he whispers to himself, just to see how it feels.

And it feels good. Scary, yes.

But good.

* * *

He winds up crying a little afterward, which he hates that he’s been doing so much of lately. But he can’t help it: the relief and terror he feels over finally being honest with himself is overwhelming. He’s spent so long trying to convince himself that he was straight that he doesn’t really know what to do with himself now.

He finds himself sitting beside his bed at 1 AM, looking through the notes hidden inside the shoebox under his bed.

_Your uniform is dumb_ . 

_You didn’t look as dumb as usual today_ (: .

_-$1._

_I guess the Spaghetti Shake wasn’t total shit you spaz_ . 

_Thanks for the dance, dork. You still can’t fucking sing! _

Richie smiles as he looks through the rest, the artifacts of their weird senses of humor and inside jokes.

Even if Eddie really isn’t gay, Richie knows that he shouldn’t punish him for that; it wouldn’t be fair. He doesn’t hate Eddie, he never could. After all, Eddie has officially broken his heart, and Richie still misses him. That has to mean something, right? Sure, maybe it just means that Richie’s completely and hopelessly pathetic, but he’d like to think it means that they’re meant to be together, even if only as friends.

And he could get used to that: being just-friends. It’d be hard, but he’d rather it be that way instead of what they are now: completely nothing.

Too bad he didn’t think of all this before fucking everything up. Richie closes his eyes, leans his head back against the edge of the bed, and prays to the universe for a second chance to make things right.

* * *

He’s eating lunch outside on Wednesday when Bill finds him.

“R-Richie!” He snaps, looking annoyed.

Richie sits up straighter on the bleachers, alarmed, “What?”

Bill sits down next to him, gripping his lunch tray tightly. “W-Why haven’t you been eating lu-lunch with us?”

Richie glances down at his plate. “Spaghetti tastes better outdoors!” He jokes lamely.

Bill isn’t amused. “E-Eddie’s been h-hiding too! Bev found him eating buh-behind the stairs.”

“Maybe he likes it there.”

“S-Stop kidding around!” Bill demands. The last time he’d seen Bill this angry with him, Richie’d gotten punched in the face, so maybe now would be a good time to shut up.

“Sorry,” Richie mumbles, poking his garlic bread with his fork.

“I know y-you guys are fuh-fighting,” Bill continues, “L-Losers don’t fight, we stick together.”

Richie doesn’t know what to say. He can’t even imagine how Bill would react to knowing the truth. _Losers stick together, alright. Sometimes they even stick their tongues in each other’s mouths and have huge crushes on each other for years! Then freak out about it and never speak to each other again. How’s that for friendship, Bill? _

Bill is silent, seemingly trying to think of a way to get through to Richie. “Beverly and I br-broke up,” He says after a moment.

Richie gapes at him. “What? When?! Why?”

“L-Last week. We d-decided w-we’d be better as fuh-friends.”

Richie can’t help but feel a little guilty. He’s been so obsessed with Eddie these past weeks, he’s been neglecting the rest of the other Losers. “Sorry I wasn’t there,” he says sincerely, “I’ve been so out of it lately.”

“I-It’s okay,” Bill shrugs, “I k-know you’re busy. Everyone is.”

“Still, I’ve been blowing you guys off.”

“I d-didn’t tell you to make you feel guilty,” Bill says, “I’m t-telling you because Bev and I are s-still friends. And w-whatever is going on with y-you and Eddie, I know y-you can stay friends, t-too.”

Richie gives him a small smile. “Thanks, Bill.”

“Tomorrow is H-Halloween. Are y-you coming to the muh-movie night?”

“I can’t. It’s Thursday, I have work.”

“Only until 9. We’ll wait for you.”

Richie doesn’t meet Bill’s gaze. He instead looks out at the field below, at the way the white yard lines are obscured with fallen leaves. “I don’t know. Will Eddie be there?”

“O-Of course.”

“I don’t think he wants to see me,” Richie says hesitantly.

“He does. H-He told me he’s excited to s-see you.”

Richie feels himself brighten a little. “Really?”

Of course, Richie has no way of knowing that Bill is completely bluffing when he says that. And he definitely doesn’t know that while he’s out here talking to Bill, Bev is inside, talking to Eddie by the stairs, and telling him how Richie told her that he can’t wait to see Eddie at the party.

All Richie knows is that _Eddie wants to see him!_

“Fine,” Richie sighs, “I guess I’ll come. The party would be lame city without me anyways.”

“Good,” Bill says, frustration finally melting away, “I’ll s-see you tomorrow then.”

* * *

His Halloween shift seems to last forever. For starters, they’re dead, because everyone’s out at parties or trick-or-treating, but also, he can’t stop worrying about tonight. Also, _Monster Mash_ has been playing nonstop, so he’s pretty sure he’s on the brink of insanity, too.

After an eternity, his shift ends, and he’s _finally_ free. He changes into a Hawaiian shirt patterned with jack-o-lanterns and layers it over a black long-sleeved shirt and black jeans. He makes sure to put on his socks that have ghosts on them and light up when he walks for extra flair.

He takes a second to admire his fashion sense in the mirror before heading out. As he bikes to Bill’s, he feels increasingly nervous and excited. All of the lawn decorations and trick-or-treaters he bikes past just get him more amped up on the holiday spirit.

When he arrives at Bill’s, the lights are all off, except for the glow coming from the living room window. He leaves his bike on the front lawn beside everyone else’s and knocks on the door.

“T-That must be Richie,” Bill says from inside.

As Richie listens to Bill’s footsteps get closer to the door, he gets an idea. Holding in his laughter, he crouches and hides further down the porch in the shadows.

The door swings open and Bill peers out curiously. “H-Hello?”

Richie springs up from his hiding spot, flailing his arms. “Boo, fucker!”

Bill yelps loudly, taking a stumbling step backward. Richie instantly doubles over with laughter, thrilled with the success of his prank.

“N-Not funny,” Bill says sternly, but he’s still smiling a little.

“Happy Halloween, Big Bill!” Richie simply smiles, standing up and clapping Bill on the back.

“Is that Richie?” Stan calls from inside, “Lock him out.”

“Jeez, Bill,” Richie says as he saunters into the living room, “Your Halloween decorations are on a whole new level this year! That corpse sitting on the couch almost looks like an actual human being!”

Stan glares at Richie before turning his attention back to the packet of Whoppers he’s trying to open.

Richie scans the room to see that all his friends are spread out throughout the living room, all facing the TV. They’re wearing various costume pieces: Mike’s in a detective hat, Stan is wearing a dramatic collar piece made of fake feathers, Bill has on a princely cape, Ben is wearing a headband with bear ears on them, Bev has a princess hat, and Eddie —

Eddie is sitting across the room on the loveseat. He has a set of cat ears on and is bundled up in a cocoon of a blanket with only his head and hands out. It’s the first time Richie’s seen him in literally a whole week, and he feels his stomach drop.

“What’s with all the costumes?” He jokes, hoping he doesn’t sound too nervous.

“Perks of working in the school costume department,” Bev smiles, getting off the couch to walk over to Richie, “I can borrow costumes from old shows whenever I want.”

“Borrow or _steal_, Miss Marsh?”

Bev gives him a wry look before placing a big floppy straw hat on his head. It’s adorned with flowers and has random pieces of straw sticking out here and there.

“You can be a scarecrow,” she says.

“Why a scarecrow?” Richie pouts.

“Because you’re shaped like one,” she teases, giving his gangly arm a gentle shake.

“And you did a good job scaring Bill,” Mike laughs.

Everyone shares a laugh at that. Everyone except for Eddie that is, who’s looking down at his lap and fiddling with a Reese’s wrapper.

Richie’s still coming to terms with his newly accepted identity, but it’s kinda a relief to be able to just think about how fucking cute Eddie looks without second-guessing what it means. Because even though Richie’s probably the only person in the world who thinks some whiny little hypochondriac is attractive, it doesn’t make it any less true. Eddie’s perfect. Eddie’s a good kisser, and maybe a good blow. Eddie’s wearing cat ears that make him look beyond adorable. 

And Eddie’s sitting next to the only open spot in the living room.

Yikes.

Everyone else is hogging the couch, armchair, or floor space, so unless Richie wants to sit completely out of sight from the TV...

“Sit down so we can start the movie,” Stan says.

Richie’s entire body feels like it’s on fire as he makes his way over to Eddie. “So, uh, what movie did we decide on?”

“A Nightmare on Elm Street!” Bev grins.

Ben, seated on the floor in front of the couch, sighs nervously.

Beverly seems to sense his discomfort and leans in, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’s not too scary.”

“No, it’s _super_ scary!” Richie grins.

Bev glares at him, to which Richie just winks back.

He’s reached the loveseat now. Eddie’s still not looking at him as Richie carefully sits down in the open spot.

_WhatnextWhatnextWhatnextWhatnext_—

Bill inserts the VHS tape before turning off the lights. He has a strand of orange Christmas lights hanging over the mantle that adds a nice atmosphere.

There’s a bowl of candy on the coffee table, which Richie reaches into. He comes back with a handful of mini-Twizzlers, 3 Musketeers, Mini Skittles, and Sixlets.

“Who the fuck brought _Sixlets?_” Richie snaps, looking up at everyone, “They’re fucking nasty.”

He gets shushed by the rest of the friends, which is like, so rude. He slouches back on the couch moodily, tossing the Sixlets back into the bowl and unwrapping one of his Twizzlers.

Richie feels the weight of a stare on the side of his face, and glances over to see Eddie looking up at him. He quickly turns away when Richie looks at him though, so it’s impossible to read Eddie’s expression.

The movie starts, but Richie can’t really focus on it. He feels like a live wire around Eddie; he keeps drumming his leg on the floor and sorting through a million different ways he could get Eddie to talk to him.

He smells like pumpkins. Knowing Eddie, he probably got some lame-o scented hand sanitizer to be festive.

15 minutes into the movie and Richie still can’t focus. He’s pretty sure that if he doesn’t talk to Eddie soon, he’ll die. So, he cautiously leans in close to Eddie and whispers, “_I got a Super Nintendo_.”

Eddie jolts a little, clearly startled, before glancing up at Richie with a wary expression. He studies Richie for a moment before hesitantly whispering back, “_What games?” _

“_F-Zero and Super Mario World_.”

“_Okay_.” Eddie takes a bite of another Reese’s peanut butter cup and returns to ignoring Richie.

Their conversation was so awkward and stilted, but at least they were speaking to each other. Richie finds that he keeps glancing at Eddie as the movie continues. He’s so hyperaware of everything happening around them: the inches of space separating them on the loveseat, the way Eddie shifts and sighs and winces as he watches the movie, the way his mouth moves as he sucks on a Tootsie Pop or scrunches up when he tries a Lemonhead.

_Stop staring! _

He forces himself to focus his attention back on the movie. One of the girls is currently being chased by Freddy Kruger and Eddie’s brow is knit with concern. “What the fuck,” he keeps muttering to himself, shaking his head.

“Scared, Eds?” Richie teases, giving him a nudge.

Eddie scowls and doesn’t respond.

Richie hesitates, but tries again. “_You know,_” he whispers, leaning in, “_If that was your mom, Freddy would probably—_“

_“Why the fuck are you talking to me?” _Eddie hisses. He doesn’t sound angry exactly, more just annoyed or exasperated.

“Shit, Eddie,” Richie’s eyes widen. “I just…”

“_You said you hated me!” _

“I didn’t m—_“ _

Eddie draws a sharp intake of breath before tossing off his blanket, getting off the couch, and running off.

_Well, fuck. _

Richie turns to look back at his friends, who are all looking back at him with an array of startled expressions.

Richie pushes his glasses up his nose and stands up with shaky legs. “Uh, guess I better go check in on Spaghetti Man,” he says lightly, “Gotta make sure he doesn’t overdose himself on baby aspirin, or something.”

He heads into the main hallway and finds that Eddie’s locked himself in the bathroom. He can hear him breathing all erratically in there, kinda like the way he did when he had asthma attacks.

“Eddie?” Richie calls out, knocking on the door.

“Go away!”

“Can we talk?”

“No!”

“Please, Eds? I’m really sorry, okay? I didn’t mean that shit I said before. Please let me in!”

“Fuck off!”

“I miss you, Eddie!” Richie blurts out, and he hates how pathetic and needy he sounds. He rests his head on the door, closing his eyes tightly to prevent himself from just flat-out crying.

“What?” Eddie mumbles hesitantly.

“I said I fucking miss you, asshole,” Richie mumbles back.

Eddie doesn’t say anything back.

“Please, Eddie,” Richie whispers.

Still nothing.

Richie’s just about ready to give up and head back into the living room when Eddie unlocks the door and peeks his head out.

Richie straightens up quickly, wiping at his eyes and giving Eddie a shaky smile. “Hey!”

“Hey,” Eddie says back, but he doesn’t smile.

“Can I come in?”

“…Fine.”

Richie steps inside the bathroom as Eddie locks the door behind them. He’s wearing an orange sweater and his eyes are red around the edges, like he’s been trying not to cry.

Richie leans against the glass shower door and Eddie leans against the sink. They both stand in place awkwardly, neither knowing what to say or who should speak first.

“I, uh, like your ears,” Richie starts, motioning to Eddie’s head.

“Uh, thanks,” Eddie blushes a little and adjusts them, “Bev said they were from _Cats._”

“Makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

More beats of silence, and Richie tries again.

“Listen, Eddie — about last week—“

“You don’t have to—“

“No,” Richie cuts in, “Let me finish. I just wanted to say that I don’t hate you, Eddie, I swear! I was totally full of shit when I said that.”

“Then why would you say it?” Eddie says, sounding devastated, “Why would you say shit like that if you didn’t mean it?”

“I dunno. I guess…I was just feeling shitty, and I wanted you to feel shitty too.”

“That’s pretty selfish.”

“I know.”

Eddie crosses his arms across his chest and just looks up at Richie. His expression is hard to discern, but Richie is just so relieved that they’re finally talking again.

“I really did miss you,” Richie starts to ramble, “Playing video games by myself is so boring. And work has been boring without you too! Yesterday Greta tripped on her skates and split her milkshake all over herself and it was the funniest thing ever — it sucked so bad that you weren’t there. And I’m so—“

“I missed you too!” Eddie cuts in, glancing at his feet.

Richie gives him a small smile. “So, you don’t hate me?”

“No,” Eddie sighs, “...I wanted to.”

“I kinda did too.”

They’re both quiet again, and Richie wonders if he should tell Eddie his secret. The prospect is slightly terrifying; after all, he’d struggled for 15 years to even admit it to himself. What if Eddie’s weirded out, or doesn’t want to be friends anymore? He thinks about the dream he had Saturday night and feels himself grow increasingly anxious.

“So…uh…why were you excited to see me?” Richie asks, curiosity getting the better of him. He needs to get his mind off all the anxious thoughts flying through his head.

Eddie’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “Huh?”

“Bill. He told me you were excited to see me tonight.”

“...Beverly told me that YOU were excited to see ME.”

“I never said that!” Richie exclaims, but then Eddie looks kinda hurt, so he adds, “I might have thought it, but I didn’t say anything.”

“I guess they probably wanted us to stop fighting,” Eddie theorizes.

“Guess so...”

They’re quiet again. Richie hates how stop-and-start their conversation is, like they’ve forgotten how to talk to each other.

“I…I lied too,” Eddie suddenly says.

Richie frowns. “About what?”

Eddie blushes again, this time more noticeably than the last. “When I said it didn’t mean anything.”

“It?” Richie echoes, confused, before it hits him.

_The kiss, idiot! _

“What did it mean then?” He asks quickly.

Eddie’s fidgeting with and tugging on the hem of his sweater nervously. “It meant...uh...a lot to me.”

“Me too, Eds! Shit, all of it did!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! All that stuff you talked about, I wasn’t fucking around, I was trying...I was…I…it just meant a lot to me too, okay?”

Eddie breathes out, looking relieved, “I wasn’t screwing around, Rich,” he insists, “I swear. I just said that ‘cause I thought you were.”

“And I just said I was because I thought _you_ were!”

“So, wait,” Eddie pauses, “…So, if I wasn’t fucking with you, and you weren’t fucking with me, then that means…”

_Oh. _

_Shit. _

Richie wants to throw-up, but like, in a good way. He’s so nervous though that he feels himself slowly sink until he’s sitting on the floor, back leaning against the shower door.

Eddie’s looking at him with wide eyes, but he cautiously moves to sit beside Richie. Their elbows brush against each other as Eddie pulls his legs to his chest and rests his chin on them.

Richie finds himself dragging his fingers through the bath mat on the floor, pulling at the threads.

“So, why’d you freak out?” Richie asks quietly, because he doesn’t know what else to say right now, the pressure is too much. “Before it happened, I mean?”

Eddie doesn’t meet his gaze. “I guess I was...um...jelubersomethin.”

Richie eyes him. “What?”

“I was jealous!” Eddie blurts out exasperatedly, “Okay, dipshit?”

“Of what?”

“Of that dumb California guy!”

“Eric?”

“_Eric_,” Eddie echoes in a mocking tone.

Richie smiles wryly. “Why would you be jealous of him?”

Eddie shrugs, still not looking at Richie. “I dunno. I guess...I guess I was just worried that you would like him better than me.”

“I could never like someone more than you,” Richie insists. He pauses, then adds, “Except for your mom, obviously.”

“Funny,” Eddie says without laughing.

He’s got to tell him, right? Honesty was important, or whatever, and now might be his only chance. He can’t risk losing Eddie to bullshitting again.

Richie adjusts the brim of his dumb hat and glances at Eddie nervously. “Hey, Eddie.”

“Yeah?”

“If I tell you something...promise you won’t hate me?”

“If you’re about to make another joke about my mom—“

“No!” Richie says, voice breaking a little, which surprises him, “I’m being serious, man.”

Eddie finally makes eye contact with him and holds it. “Okay...” he hesitates.

Richie starts drumming his foot on the bathroom floor. “I...uh...the thing is...”

This feels impossible. Richie would honestly take swinging bats at killer clowns or mouthing off to jerkass bullies than sitting here and trying to share his secret with Eddie. It feels like pulling back his own skin or parting ways with a limb.

“I—

(_Know your secret your dirty little secret and__didn’t you know fucking faggots aren’t allowed in this town and being able to tie a cherry stem means you’re good at kissing and blowing and Richie would give anything for either with Eddie because it’s always been Eddie_ _and R + E_ _and he could never like another boy more than Eddie_).

“I think I like guys,” Richie whispers, so low he wonders if Eddie can hear him. He doesn’t have the guts to repeat himself though.

He waits for Eddie to recoil in disgust, or move away from him, or fall into a long tangent about how dirty and gross Richie is. He’s fully prepared for any of those things.

What he’s not prepared for is for Eddie to start crying.

“Eddie?” Richie blanches.

“I...I think,” Eddie hiccups, “I do too.”

A choir of angels bursts into songs of glorious exaltation in Richie’s head. But Eddie’s still crying, so his excitement is short-lived.

“Shit, Eds, what’s wrong?”

“I d-don’t want to!” Eddie blubbers, “I mean, there’s already so many fucked up things about me! I got fake asthma, I’m sick all the time, I’m not cool like Bill or funny like you. I’m just this huge scared pussy that does whatever his mom wants! I just wanted one thing that Victor and Belch and everyone else gives me shit about to not be true!”

Richie wraps an arm around Eddie protectively. “Well, fuck all those guys,” He scowls, “They’re just a bunch of burnout shittheads.”

“My mom says it’s a sickness!” Eddie continues.

“You told her?!”

“No, she just talks about it sometimes. She says it’s dirty and that people like that all have AIDS! I don’t wanna be sick, Richie! I don’t want to die!”

Richie holds him tighter. “You’re not going to die,” he says fiercely, giving Eddie a squeeze, “Your mom is full of shit. I’m gonna dump her ass.”

Eddie snorts and leans closer to Richie, resting his head on Richie’s shoulder as he continues to sniff and wipe his eyes.

“I’d never let anything happen to you,” Richie says, and means it.

“But what if it’s true? What if we’re sick?”

Richie takes some time to think this over. “I don’t know...but what if…what if it’s not us that’s wrong, you know?”

Eddie frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Eric didn’t seem to care that I was a guy,” Richie points out.

“I don’t care what _Eric_ thought.”

“No, listen: he wasn’t from Derry, and he acted like he liked me. And I...I’ve heard on TV and stuff that people are more okay with stuff like that in California.”

“...Really?”

“Yeah! So, I mean, if other places are okay with it…maybe it’s just Derry that’s fucked up, not us. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Eddie processes this for awhile. Richie lets him, content to just have Eddie in his arms and to run his hand over Eddie’s shoulder.

“Maybe you’re right,” Eddie finally whispers.

“I’m always right.”

“Shut up.”

Richie studies him for a moment before venturing, “Soooooo, when you said you like guys too, are there any ones in particular or was that just more of a general statement?”

Eddie’s face starts to turn red. “I don’t know!” He smiles nervously, “Are there any that y—“

“Yes.” Richie doesn’t hesitate. It’s do-or-die time, boys. Time to lay it all out in the open once for all. Also, Richie doesn’t want to sound like a dick, but if Eddie likes guys, how could he NOT like Richie, right? Richie’s the total package! His jokes are hilarious, he’s basically rich now; it’s a no-brainer.

Eddie looks up at him, surprised. “Really?”

Richie smiles at him. “Yup.”

Eddie adjusts his cat ears, looking shy. “Who?”

For once, Richie can’t think of any words to properly sum up his feelings. And so, before he can second-guess himself, he chooses to instead cup Eddie’s face and pull him in for a quick kiss. It sweet — literally, Eddie tastes like pure candy — and brief, and when Richie pulls away, part of him is worried that it was a mistake. That it’ll go down just like his dream had.

_Shit. _

But Eddie doesn’t make a face or pull away in disgust. Instead, he’s smiling, all warm and soft and content. “Oh,” he says simply.

“Yup,” Richie blushes.

“I...I like you too,” Eddie murmurs, and it’s the best sentence Richie’s heard in all of his existence, and the angels are back.

“Shit, really?”

“Unfortunately,” Eddie says dryly.

Richie is so happy he could explode, literally. His brains feel ready to burst out of his head and he wants to climb onto the roof and shout into the night, _Eddie Kaspbrak LIKES me, motherfuckers!_

But that doesn’t seem like the best use of his time, so instead he just starts smiling and can’t stop. “Fuck, Eds, I thought...I thought I was crazy.”

“Me too.”

“But you like me!”

Eddie nods, blushing like crazy now.

“So...then...wanna be my boyfriend?” He can’t believe that these are the actual words coming out of his mouth right now.

Eddie’s face falls. “Richie...we can’t. You know what they’d do to us.”

“I know, I know! Believe me, I do. But like...what if we were together like, secretly?”

“Like...not tell anyone?”

“I mean people already give us shit for just hanging out together,” Richie points out, “So, like, what difference does it make what we do when we’re alone?”

“I guess that’s a good point.” Eddie gives him a shy look. “...What would we do when we’re alone?”

“Fuck.”

Eddie elbows him, hard, and Richie yelps.

“I’m kidding!”

“No shit.”

Richie regains his composure and continues. “I dunno. We can go to more movies. We can hang out at the park. We can listen to music. I dunno; honestly I don’t give a fuck what we do, Eds, as long as it’s with you.”

“Aw,” Eddie smiles at him. He looks happier than Richie’s probably ever seen him. “Could I come over and play your Super Nintendo sometime?”

Richie gasps. “Eddie Kaspbrak, is that a euphemism?”

Eddie smiles wider. “What the fuck? No!”

“Because you can be my player 2 anytime,” Richie continues, winking.

“Literally shut up—“

“Hope you know your way around a joystick, Eds.”

“Oh my god! You’re so disgusting!” Eddie groans, but he’s still smiling.

Richie leans in to rest his forehead against Eddie’s. “You’re amazing,” He says happily, all jokes forgotten.

Eddie kisses Richie’s temple, causing Richie’s heart to soar. “I wanna be with you, Rich,” he says, voice low and only for Richie to hear.

“So, you’ll be my secret boyfriend?” Richie whispers back.

“Sure.”

Richie beams and tilts his head back. “_Fuck yeah!_” He starts to shout, but Eddie slaps a hand over his mouth and starts laughing.

“Literally shut the fuck up!”

Richie just kisses the palm of Eddie’s hand, which causes Eddie to pull away quickly.

“Ew!” Eddie exclaims, wiping his palm on Richie’s pants.

“Baby,” Richie snorts.

“That better not be your new pet name for me, or whatever the fuck; I’d hate that.”

“No, I was just calling you a baby. Like an insult.”

Eddie nudges him again. “Asshole.”

“Idiot.”

“Dipshit.”

“Fuckface.”

“Chicken shit.”

“Chicken fucker.”

Eddie snorts. “What the hell is a chicken fucker?”

“I dunno,” Richie giggles. He’s so giddy he feels kinda high from it, “You, I guess.”

Eddie just sighs and shakes his head, like he can’t believe he actually just agreed to date Richie. Richie honestly can’t believe it either. He’s spent so long dreaming of this moment that now that it’s finally here, he’s not sure what to do.

Eddie looks up at Richie, and Richie thinks back to that night on Eddie’s front steps, and how Eddie had looked up at him all expectantly, and now he thinks he gets what Eddie wanted that night.

And unlike that night, he’s not afraid to go for it this time.

“Wanna make out?” Richie suggests playfully, raising an eyebrow up and down.

Eddie giggles, which is officially the cutest sound ever, and leans closer.

“I’ll take that as a _yes_?” Richie asks, leaning in too.

“Yes,” Eddie smiles, nose brushing against Richie’s.

Richie licks his lips before cupping the back of Eddie’s head. He still can’t believe this is actually happening. He gently pulls Eddie closer before closing his eyes, tilting his head to the side, and —

Someone jostles the lock, then knocks on the bathroom door.

“What the fuck?” Richie exclaims, turning to glare at the door.

“It’s me!” Stan says, knocking on the door some more, “I have to use the bathroom.”

_Motherfucker_.

“Then go outside!”

“I’m not a _dog_, Richie!”

“Go to the one upstairs!” 

“I don’t wanna walk that far!”

“Now who’s lazy?”

“Still you! Open the door!”

“Fuck no, perv!”

Eddie sighs impatiently and rests his hand on Richie’s thigh before giving it a gentle squeeze. It’s such a simple touch and yet Richie can hardly think straight. He’s so worked up for Eddie that Eddie could probably just stay like this and Richie would cream his pants eventually.

“You’ve been in there for like 20 minutes!” Stan snaps.

“I’m busy!” Richie snaps back, voice a little higher-pitched than usual.

“Doing what?!”

“Your mom.”

Stan pauses for a moment. “...Is Eddie in there with you?” He asks suspiciously.

Richie and Eddie make eye contact, which causes them both to break. They lean close to each other as they try to hold back their laughter.

“_Uh, no,_” Eddie says in a horrible impression of Richie’s voice that just causes Richie to crack up even more.

“Oh my god,” Stan mutters, but then they can hear him walking away, and Richie is finally alone with Eddie again.

“What the fuck was that?” Richie laughs, poking Eddie in the stomach, “I do NOT sound like that!”

Eddie beams and squirms from Richie’s touch. “You kinda do, though.”

“Fuck off.”

“You fuck off.”

“You first!”

Eddie shuts him up by kissing the side of Richie’s mouth. He slowly moves his fingers over Richie’s thigh, a light ghost of a touch. Richie’s grateful that he’s sitting down, because he‘s quickly weak in the knees.

“Eddie,” He whispers, already sounding wrecked.

“Kiss me,” Eddie whispers back, blushing as he says it.

Richie doesn’t need any more encouragement before he’s curling his fingers through Eddie’s hair and pulling him in. Their mouths miss, which causes them both to laugh, before they finally match up. Eddie practically melts against him and Richie knows that he could get used to this.

This time around, their kiss is like the perfected version of the one they shared before: it’s fast and exciting and explorative, but without all the harshness of a fresh fight. Richie has time to experiment more, paying close attention to the way Eddie reacts when he tilts his head a little, bites down on Eddie’s lip, or runs his fingers through his hair.

Richie’s been waiting for this for so long that he just can’t get enough. Eddie still tastes like candy, and Richie’s tongue keeps moving in for a taste.

Eddie whimpers and digs his hands into the front of Richie’s shirt, matching Richie’s excited pace with ease.

“You taste amazing,” Richie says as he pulls back for air.

“Weirdo,” Eddie replies breathlessly.

“Just stating facts!” Richie defends, but Eddie cuts him off with another eager kiss.

“Can I sit on you?” Eddie asks, moving to kiss his jaw.

Richie nearly passes out. “_Holy shit_. You can do whatever the fuck you want, Eds!”

“Okay.” Eddie smiles and gets up. He hovers over Richie before carefully sitting back down in a way that has him straddling Richie’s waist. His arms loop around Richie’s neck and he playfully knocks Richie’s straw hat off his head.

“This ok?” He asks.

“This is fucking fantastic,” Richie beams, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist.

And those are the last words they exchange for a long while.

* * *

Even though all they do is kiss, by the time they finally pry apart, Richie feels totally spacey. He feels like he can barely remember his own name. Also, his mouth is actually _sore. _He didn’t even know that was possible!

He doesn’t want to get up, but Eddie points out that their friends will think it’s suspicious if they just disappear for the rest of the night, so Richie ultimately relents. He and Eddie have both just gotten up when Richie pulls him in for one quick last kiss.

“You’re like a koala,” Eddie whines, pulling away.

“Sorry,” Richie says, not sorry at all.

Eddie turns to the mirror to smooth out his clothes and fix his hair. Richie puts his hat back on and leans back against the wall, perfectly content to just watch his boyfriend (BOYFRIEND!!!).

“You gave me a hickey, you know,” Richie says, watching Eddie in the mirror.

Eddie looks back at him. “I did?”

“Last week. It’s gone now, but it was pretty fucking big.”

Eddie smiles and turns his attention back to his reflection. “Oh,” he says, rather smugly.

Richie takes a step forward and starts pressing kisses to Eddie’s neck. “Maybe I should return the favor, huh?”

Eddie lets out a small delighted yelp and squirms away. “Don’t! My mom would kill me.”

“But what a way to go!”

“Hmph.”

When they finally come back to the living room, the movie is in its final act. The rest of the Losers turn to look at them with varying facial expressions. Bill and Mike look relieved, Ben looks concerned, Stan looks like he could care less, and Beverly is just smirking at them.

“What?” Eddie asks defensively

“You were gone for a _long_ time,” Bev says, still smirking.

Richie, too whipped to think of a proper retort or excuse, just grins like an idiot. “Yup!”

Eddie rolls his eyes all annoyed. “Whatever,” he says, making his way back to the loveseat.

Richie joins him. Thankfully, their friends don’t push the issue and turn their attention back to the movie.

Eddie grabs the blanket he was wrapped up in earlier and wraps it around both of them so that they’re bundled up together. It also keeps the hands they’ve got under the blanket hidden, so nothing is stopping Richie from lacing their fingers together.

Eddie uses his free hand to grab more candy, and — except for the hand-holding and blanket-sharing — it’s almost as if the past hour didn’t even happen. Like Richie had simply dreamed the whole thing from start to finish.

But he knows it not, because he can feel the tangible weight of Eddie’s hand in his, and he can still remember the taste of Eddie on his lips, and this night has without a doubt gone better than anything Richie could ever dream up, and he doesn’t want it to end.

Richie leans in to whisper into Eddie’s ear, and it’s like they’re right back in the diner again — sharing secrets side-by-side, happy to be together.

“Sleepover at my place tonight?” Richie whispers.

Eddie smiles but shakes his head. “We have school tomorrow!” He whispers back.

“We’ll go together!”

“My mom will lose her shit if I don’t come home tonight.”

“Then we can have it at your place; I’ll sneak in.”

“Fine,” Eddie gives in, snuggling a little closer to Richie, “But you better not keep me up tonight.”

“Can’t make any promises, Eds.”

Eddie just keeps smiling up at him, and Richie wishes more than anything that he could kiss him right now.

But it can’t be like that with them, not now, not yet. What they do must be done in secret, and Richie knows he’ll have plenty of time to give Eddie all the kisses he wants later tonight.

So, for now, he’s content. It’s Halloween, he’s surrounded by his friends, and the boy he loves is his boyfriend.

So, basically, in conclusion, life is pretty fucking great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Hopefully, this makes up for the angst in last chapter! They're DATING karen! 
> 
> I'm thinking that there'll be one more fic in this universe after this. It'll be 2 years from this one and more fluffy! Also probably rated M, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Comment below ur favorite Halloween candy and ur favorite part of this trash story ⬇ !!!!!!


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